Green Light
by This Is Melodrama
Summary: Eight months. Eight lousy months he has to get through to earn his diploma while staying out of trouble . . . if that was even possible for Dallas Winston. What a joke.
1. It's In the Blood

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Lorde owns "White Teeth Teens."**

* * *

 _I'll let you in on something big_

 _I'm not a white teeth teen_

 _I tried to join but never did_

 _The way they are, the way they seem is something else, it's in the blood_

 **October 11, 1965**

Dallas Winston sneered at the sight of Will Rogers High School. Anger wasn't even a term that could compare to what he was feeling. Undoubted rage reflected in his cold blue orbs as he grounded a cigarette butt into the gravel beneath his heel.

Who the fucks bright idea was this again?

The judge's? The fuzz?

Dallas Winston _did not_ go to school. He couldn't even believe he had agreed to such a stupid-ass proposition to begin with, but if it kept him from serving five years in Tulsa State Prison, he would suffer surviving one year of high school and earning his diploma. That had been the judge's magnificent bargain. It was either that or serve five years for armed robbery, and aiding two juvenile delinquents escape a murder investigation.

Dally wondered why he didn't just die that night nearly one month ago. That was what he had wanted after all. But no. The cops had shot him after he robbed that store the night Johnny died. Dally didn't seem to remember much of it, though.

All he remembered was the sound of multiple people yelling, the pain that shot through his body as he was jerked around, and then he was waking up in the hospital with that godforsaken gown back on and physical pain he didn't even know he could feel. It was then that he had blocked Johnny out of his mind in hope that he wouldn't ever have to relive any of the events that had taken place last month.

He'd spent two weeks in the hospital after that, before he was arrested and awaited the trial that would reveal each of their fates. Ponyboy was released back in Darry's custody, and Dally, well, he'd nearly died of shock when his options were presented to him.

If it wasn't for the handcuffs securing his hands behind his back, he would have strangled the officer beside himself, before lunging at the judge and wringing his fucking neck, too.

He kept telling himself that this was one sick joke, but it wasn't, and the brick building in front of him only served as a reminder of that.

He fancied the thought of leaving town a few times, but figured he wouldn't get too far. And besides, who the hell wants to live the rest of their life incognito while running from the law?

Eight months.

Eight lousy months he has to get through to earn his diploma while staying out of trouble . . . if that was even possible for Dallas Winston. What a fucking joke.

The guys had told him that it wouldn't be so bad. Steve was a senior as well, and Two-Bit and Ponyboy would be going, too.

At least he wouldn't be completely alone.

Hell, that wasn't even the damn point! He would be the laughing stock. Dallas Winston, toughest hood on Tulsa's east side decided to take up schooling and further his education.

Glory, wait 'til fucking Shepard got a load of this shit. The thought alone caused him to inwardly cringe. Dally hadn't really even been to school since . . . what was it? . . . the sixth grade? He couldn't remember.

Speaking of which, how was he supposed to keep up with anything they were learning? He was street smart, not book smart. Going to school and being above average on the academic pyramid was Darry's and Ponyboy's forte. Heck, even Steve was school smart, not real brainy like Ponyboy, but he had some pretty decent intellect, not to mention, common sense.

But here he was, clad in his ripped up jean jacket, low-cut, stained jeans, and cowboy boots, standing in front of the high school awaiting one of the gang. He was sure he looked like a real fucking idiot just standing there staring at the place like it had some kind of disease. All he needed was a backpack and a lunchbox or some shit to add the finishing touches to his new image as a high school senior.

"Hey, Dal," a quiet voice greeted, snapping the older greaser out of his thoughts. Ponyboy Curtis was standing beside him, books in hand, seeming almost as uncomfortable as he was. "You ready to head in?"

Dally scowled. "Where's Two-Bit and Steve, kid?"

Pony frowned. "Two-Bit is sleepin' off a hangover, and Steve said he's coming in late today." It was then that the youngest greaser took a good look at Dallas. "Say, Dal, how'd you get here anyway?"

"Walked."

Ponyboy looked appalled, but didn't comment on it, which was smart. Nobody wanted to get mouthy with Dally, especially when he was already in a sour mood. Truthfully, he didn't mind walking to the school, but he wished he had Buck's T-Bird.

Unfortunately, Buck had refused to let Dally "borrow" it again after he'd driven it up to Windrixville and had to ask Tim Shepard to retrieve it the following day and leave it at the hospital for Dally's carefully concocted plan to escape the night of the rumble.

Dallas not only lost his privilege of "borrowing" the car, but Buck had kicked him out on his ass, going on about some rent that was due, and that he wasn't taking in strays for free.

Dally had ended up spending a night under a bridge, nearly freezing into a replicated version of Walt Disney. He could have gone to the Curtis's, but ever since he'd been officially released, he'd been attempting to avoid their place as much as he could.

Talk about strays . . .

The bell rang and Dallas followed Ponyboy inside the building where he was lead to an office type area, which he assumed to be Guidance. Yeah, right. The only guidance Dallas ever had in life was a straight path to hell. Who were these people kidding?

He was given his schedule, along with a pass, the counselor secretary recoiling away from him as much as she could. She held her fingers at the very edge of his papers to avoid touching him at all. Dallas only glared at her. He was used to this kind of treatment, and he was used to counselors, too. Lord only knew how many of them he had to speak with whenever he was _in-car-cer-ated,_ as they would say.

But Dallas was good. He knew how to play the system and how to get what he wanted. It wasn't like he didn't know how to "behave himself," but where was the fun in that?

"What's your first class?" Pony asked, shifting his books, nodding once to the slips Dally was aimlessly stuffing into his pocket.

"Huh?" he asked, before realization sunk in. He flipped the paper over, the scowl on his face becoming more apparent. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me. Art? With S. _Girdle?!"_

Pony chuckled. "Mrs. Girdlé. It's pronounced Gird-lay."

Dally's lips only thinned. "Whatever."

The thought of himself sitting at an art table with a paintbrush in hand wasn't making him feel too hot. He was about ready to hightail it out of there. No way in hell would he be caught dead in an art room painting anything. Five years behind bars was beginning to look better and better by the second. This place was out of it.

"Where are you going?" Pony called out, jogging to catch up to his older friend. "Dally?"

The towheaded boy crumbled up his paper, dropping it on the floor. "I ain't doin' this shit, man. They want me to take a fucking art class, for Christ's sake." He snorted, the irritation clearly visible on his face. "Ain't happenin'."

Against his better judgment, Ponyboy reached out with his free hand, grabbing Dally's arm. The older teen jerked around, his hand balled into a fist, ready to knock someone's lights out.

"The fuck are you doing?"

Pony's green eyes were wide, but he stood firm. "You can't just walk away."

"Says who?" Dally shot back.

For a moment, Ponyboy was silent. He wasn't sure what to say, but knew he would never be able to tell Dallas Winston what to do, let alone make his mind up for him.

Dally continued to stare at Ponyboy, but the younger teen only thrust his schedule back in his hand before heading the opposite way and disappearing down the hall.

Dally stared at the paper for a few seconds, silently cursing everything under the sun, before going to find the art room.

* * *

"Mr. Winston, so glad you could finally join us."

Dallas stood awkwardly in the doorway of the art room, staring at the plump older woman who had addressed him. She was grinning widely, dark eyes seemingly enlarged behind thick-rimmed glasses.

The students, Socs mostly, were gawking at him, some starting to whisper, but that didn't bother him in the least. If anything, he was agitated more so than before. He had gotten lost three times, and it had taken him over half the class period to find the damn room.

The teacher only motioned him further inside. "Come on in and take a seat anywhere. Would you like to say a few words about yourself?"

Oh, he had a few choice words, alright. None too appropriate for the environment he was currently in, though.

When Dallas didn't respond, instead taking a seat in the back of the room and kicking his feet up on the table, she simply nodded, before getting back to the assignment. She continued to ramble on about drawing proper lines, or something or another, and Dallas droned her out. He wanted a cigarette badly; this place was getting on his nerves.

It wasn't long before his eyes drifted closed as he folded his hands behind his head, and it wasn't long after that when a loud clap jolted him right back into reality.

"Jesus Christ! Give me a fucking heart attack!" he shouted, sitting up straight. It took him a minute to realize where he was, the art teacher staring back at him in disbelief.

"Language, Mr. Winston," she scolded, shaking her head. "The bell has rang signaling that first period is over, so unless you would like to sleep through another one of my classes, I suggest you go." As Dallas made his way toward the door, she continued. "Next time, you'll receive a detention."

Dally only smirked. "Whatever you say, Mrs. _Girdle."_

* * *

Ella Mitchell drummed her fingers against her desk leisurely. There was only a half hour until the end of fourth period, and then she could bail for lunch. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't realize Mr. Monroe, her history teacher, had called on her.

"Miss Mitchell, are you with us?" he asked, louder that time.

Ella jerked forward. "Sorry, what?"

Before Mr. Monroe could respond, there was a knock on the door, before it opened, revealing a girl. She nodded to Mr. Monroe, an apologetic look on her heart-shaped face.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Davis has requested Ella Mitchell in the office," she said in a casual tone.

Mr. Monroe nodded in Ella's direction. "Come back tomorrow with a clear head, Miss Mitchell."

Ella simply rolled her eyes as she exited the classroom.

The walk to the office was short, as her history class was just around the corner. Ella couldn't imagine why she would be requested; it wasn't like she was a trouble maker. Hell, she barely talked to anyone at all, for crying out loud.

Adjusting the strap of her bag, Ella looked at the girl accompanying her, admiring her smooth colorful dress. She didn't have too long to admire it, though, because they had arrived at the office a moment later.

The girl offered her a polite smile as she passed through, closing the door behind her. Mrs. Chambers, the secretary, looked up at Ella as she approached her desk, one thin brow raising in curiosity.

"Miss Mitchell, I assume?"

Ella nodded quickly. "Yes."

"Go on back, dear. Mr. Davis is expecting you," she replied, and went back to what she was previously doing, not even noticing the distraught look on Ella's face.

The door to Mr. Davis's office was left ajar, the sound of voices flowing out into the hall. Ella lifted her chin a bit as she walked to the entrance, lightly tapping the frame to announce her presence. She nearly froze at the sight of the boy sitting in one of the chairs across from Mr. Davis. She didn't know him personally, but she had heard the rumors.

"Miss Mitchell, won't you join us?" Principal Davis suggested, waving her in.

Ella stepped inside wearily, taking a seat beside the rumored boy. She never wanted to be within the same walls as him, but here she was, sitting not even three feet from him. The smell of cigarettes radiated off of him, making her dizzy. She held her breath, leaning away from him as much as she could.

"You wanted to see me?" she questioned, ignoring the hood beside her.

Mr. Davis merely smiled. "Ella, this is Dallas Winston." Ella grimaced slightly. "Today is his first day here, and since he is . . . unfamiliar—"

Ella zoned out, not really interested in anything about Dallas Winston. As far as she was concerned, he was a hood, a nasty boy with a terrible attitude and a disgusting lifestyle. She'd heard about him alright, and he was even more horrible up close. How some of the other girls cooed about him was a mystery to her.

Dallas was not even good-looking. His blond, almost white, hair was long, curling around his pointed ears and down his neck and looked in dire need of a good brushing, or cutting. His eyes were blue, apathetic and mean at the same time, and he looked like he'd spent the night in a dumpster.

But it wasn't his looks that made her dislike him. It was the things he'd done that she had heard about through some of her peers. He jumped kids, started fights, stole, cheated, lied, broke girls' hearts . . .

The list was never ending.

Everyone knew to steer clear of the teenage jailbird's reputation and dangerous ways, and Ella was no exception.

". . . and I've assigned you as his tutor."

Ella's eyes nearly bulged straight out of their sockets. "Say what?"

Mr. Davis furrowed his eyebrows. "Pardon?"

Ella flushed. "You did what?"

Beside her, Dally scoffed, shaking his head. "Ya know, I don't think this plan of yours is so hot, Sir. This girl is obviously a fucking airhead. You really want _that_ tryin' to teach me anything? How about Ponyboy Curtis? Now there's a good candidate."

Ella's head snapped in Dally's direction as Mr. Davis reprimanded him on his language. Before she could turn away, though, the hood's eyes caught hers, and she flinched at the look he held.

His eyes weren't just blue, they were iced over blue, like two icicles blazing with a deep hatred of everyone and everything. Ella had never seen such intense hate like that, and she turned away quickly. She wasn't going to let _him_ get under her skin at all.

". . . as yourself and Miss Mitchell are in the same grade. Now, Mr. Winston, in order to earn your diploma, you must pass the four core subjects, English, history, mathematics, and science. I'm assigning Ella as your personal tutor," Mr. Davis explained in a serious tone. "Now, come the end of the marking period, I will review your academic progress before meeting with you again. That is all. You both are dismissed."

Ella wanted to scream, disagree . . . _something!_

Dallas stood up, cocking his head to one side as he studied her. _"Personal,_ huh?"

"Ugh," Ella groaned, marching out of the office without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

* * *

"I don't get what the big deal is," Ponyboy mumbled, taking a swig of his beverage. "What's the problem with having a tutor?"

Either Ponyboy was feeling awfully brave, or he had a death wish.

"She's an air-headed broad," Dallas bit out. "Only thing she'd be good for is—"

"Okay!" Pony said, ears turning red. This wasn't how he'd wanted to spend his lunch period, even if he was glad for the company of his buddies.

Steve laughed obnoxiously. "Hey, is she even good-looking? Who is this lucky gal that gets the privilege of tutoring your greasy ass?"

Dallas shrugged. "Nah, she ain't. And I dunno, man, Ella something-or-other." Just as the words fell from his lips, he suddenly sat up straighter, pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose as he jerked his chin forward. "Holy shit. That's her."

Steve and Ponyboy followed his direction, trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious girl that would be tutoring Dally . . . if she could even survive the job.

Steve shrugged. "Out of ten, I'd give her a four."

"Told you," Dally laughed. He watched her walk by her lonesome across the lot and back into the school, clutching her books tightly against her chest.

She was a petite thing with bushy brown hair, her face sprinkled with freckles, which peppered their way down her shoulders and arms. Other than that, Dallas hadn't remembered much else concerning her features, not that he cared to.

"She ain't bad lookin'," Ponyboy commented.

Steve glanced at him. "Yeah, right. And since when are you into girls anyway?"

Ponyboy blushed, but he ignored Steve's and Dallas's crude remarks, knowing that if Two-Bit or Soda were there, they'd join in, too.

* * *

Ella walked to her job from the school later that afternoon. It was a little over a month into her senior year and she was already done with it. She hadn't been able to take the few courses that she'd wanted, and she was stuck in regular classes with kids she didn't talk to, not that she had a ton of friends to begin with. Her schedule didn't allow her any free time, except for Sunday.

Her mother worked two jobs, one as a barmaid, and the other as a cashier at the antique shop just down the road from their house. It was her job at the grocery store and her mother's jobs that kept a roof over their heads. Ever since her father walked out on them when Ella was young, her mother had busted her ass to make sure that they didn't end up on the street.

Ella had done odd jobs since was young, but never had a real job until she turned sixteen and landed one at the grocery store. Her life revolved around school and work, work and school. It was a never-ending cycle that Ella had grown accustomed to, but she didn't mind.

She didn't identify herself as a greaser or a soc, but she was highly aware of the social class divide that she lived in. If anything, she considered herself middle-class, bordering the lower end of the spectrum.

Janice, her co-worker, greeted her as she walked inside to clock in. "How was your day, hunny?"

Ella shrugged lethargically. "Fine."

Jan noticed the odd tone in her voice, but didn't bother to question it. She never did like to pry, knowing that Ella wasn't one to admit or confess her issues anyway. She merely patted her shoulder as she brushed passed her, exiting the room.

As the hours past, Ella grew bored, standing at the register with no line. Jan had finally thrust the mop in her direction, giving her an easy grin. Ella rolled her eyes good naturedly as she got to work.

By the time she finished cleaning the floor, her shift was over. As she gathered up her belongings, Jan poked her head in, nodding at the clock.

"You need a ride home?"

Ella shook her head. "No, that's okay." She gave her a reassuring look. "My house is only a few minutes away."

Jan considered it for a moment, before letting Ella go. "Be careful."

* * *

Dallas shoved his hands into his pockets, the cool night air nipping at his skin. He wouldn't admit it, but he was damn cold. He wished that he never gave Ponyboy his leather jacket that night; damn thing got burnt up in the fire.

He cursed his mind, willing those thoughts away. He didn't want to think about that week, or what had happened. Christ, if he never sent those fucking kids to the church, none of it would have happened. Maybe if he'd come a day earlier, or maybe if he would have stayed a little longer at the Dairy Queen—

Dally turned rapidly, pounding his fist into the exterior of Buck's roadhouse, mumbling out a string of profanities as he did. Fuckin' Johnny. Stupid fucking kid had to be a hero, following Ponyboy into the burning inferno the church had become. Every time Dallas looked at Ponyboy, he was reminded of everything. Him and Johnny were so alike it was was eerie.

"Son of a bitch!" Dally snapped, before heading inside.

He had no problem finding Buck, who was half crocked, his eyes glazed over as he stared at him. Dallas marched over and grabbed the front of Buck's flannel, his other hand ready to strike.

"I need a room tonight, and you ain't gonna give me any static unless you want to lose more teeth," he growled, before shoving the older cowboy back.

"Whatever you say, Winston," Buck replied, spitting in the can.

As soon as Dallas was in an empty bedroom upstairs, he locked the door behind himself and flopped down onto the bed, hoping to get some sleep.

Luck wasn't on his side that night as the sound of Hank Williams suddenly grew louder from downstairs.

 _Their molars blinking like the lights, in the underpass where we all sit_

 _And do nothing and love it_


	2. In My Head

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Strumbella's own "Spirits."**

* * *

 _I got guns in my head and they won't go_

 _Spirits in my head and they won't go_

 **October 13, 1965**

Ella smoothed her skirt down as she walked out of her math class. It had been two days since Principal Davis had assigned her as Dallas Winston's tutor, and it had been two days since she'd seen the hood.

She was determined to find him.

Just because _he_ wasn't making an effort to help himself didn't mean that she was going to get in trouble for not doing her job.

That's all Dallas was to her, a job—one that she wanted to get done and over with so that she never had to see his face again.

As she walked down the hall, books in hand, she noticed Steve Randle shuffling some of his own books between his arms and locker, a tall brunette girl standing beside him.

Ella really didn't know Steve, but they were in the same grade and he had a reputation as the best mechanic in town. She also knew that Dallas hung around with him, so she figured he would be able to help her in her quest to find the blond hood.

She stood awkwardly beside his locker until he finally slammed the thing shut, giving her a once over as he raised an inquisitive brow. Neither he or the girl seemed to notice her standing there until the locker door was closed.

"What?" he asked in an impatient voice. "You need somethin'?"

Ella gulped nervously. "You're Steve Randle, right?"

That was a stupid question, she thought bitterly. She already knew who he was.

The girl who was standing with him was glaring at her, probably wondering what the hell she was up to. Ella recognized her; she was Steve's girlfriend, Evie. She was a year behind them, but she and Ella shared the same gym period.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, and?"

"I'm looking for Dallas Winston," she replied. "I'm supposed to be tutoring him."

Steve vaguely remembered her from the other day. He and Dally had made some nasty remarks about her during lunch. Dally had been right, though. She was definitely a plain girl, nothing much to look at.

The dark-haired greaser continued to stare at her for another minute, before slowly nodding. "Yeah, sure. Listen, kid, I don't know where he's at right now, but I'll pass the message that you're lookin' for him, dig?"

"Thanks," Ella mumbled, turning on her heel to head to her history class.

Steve watched her walk off with a curious gaze. He wondered why she would even bother to come looking for Dallas at all, tutor or not.

"Ella Mitchell is going to _tutor_ Dallas Winston?" Evie asked, sounding perturbed, and Steve didn't miss the frown on her lips, not that he could fault her. He wouldn't want to be stuck in Ella's position, buddy or not of Dally's.

Ella Mitchell. So that was her name.

He nodded in affirmation. "Guess so. You know her?"

Evie only shrugged, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "Not too well, but she's in gym with me. She don't hardly talk to any of the girls, though."

At that information, Steve blinked in surprise, but shook it off. "Well, she seems awfully strange anyway."

* * *

"Seriously?" Dally asked with grim amusement as he and Steve stood by Two-Bit's locker after lunch. "You mean that dopey broad actually came lookin' for me?"

"Yup," Steve answered, smirking. "Gotta admit that she's got some nerve."

Two-Bit laughed. "Yeah, I don't know of any girl with half a brain that would ever come seeking you out." He pulled a small, folded package off the top shelf of his locker. "Anyone want a chew?"

Dally rolled his eyes. "That's 'cause you don't talk to any girls with more brain than that."

Two-Bit only continued on merrily, motioning to the book in Dally's grip. "That's a new look for you, huh? Never thought I'd see the day—"

"Can it, Mathews, 'fore I beat your head in," Dally growled with vexation.

Two-Bit only grinned, but didn't press the teasing.

Ever since Dally had attempted to get himself killed, the guys were more wary around him. They knew how downright mean and cruel he could be, how violent he was, but ever since the trial, Dally had become more isolated, more distant, which only made his disposition more dangerous.

He hadn't even shown up at Johnny's funeral. He was told about it, but he chose not to make an appearance. Nobody said anything, though. It was a mutual, silent understanding.

Steve's voice broke his thoughts. "There's your girl, Dal."

Dally's eyebrows crinkled together as he turned his head to the side, watching as his supposed-to-be tutor walked right passed them, chin lowered as she seemed to ignore the other students who were around her, making their way to their next classes.

"Yeah, sure looks like she's looking hard for you," Two-Bit remarked. "Didn't even see you standing right here."

Dally snorted. "Told you she was a dope."

"Hey, Ella!" Steve called out, before lowering his voice. "What's her name? It's Ella, right? Mitchell? I think that's what Evie said earlier."

Two-Bit followed suit. "Yo, Ella! Ella Mitchell!"

The brown-headed girl came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the hall, causing two kids to nearly plow her over. She turned back to see the two greasers who were calling her name, accompanied by none other than Dallas Winston.

"Have fun," Two-Bit snickered to Dally as he and Steve took off, leaving him there with Ella.

He scowled as she approached him. "Heard you was lookin' for me."

Ella looked terrified of him, but she nodded. "You heard right." When he didn't say anything else, she continued. "I, um, wanted to know what you wanted to do about the tutoring."

She studied him for a good moment, not meeting his eyes. It looked like he was wearing the same exact outfit that she'd first seen him in, only with a different colored shirt.

She made a disgusted expression, wondering if he even knew the meaning of a good bath. It would probably kill him, she thought.

The hoodlum smirked at her obvious discomfort around him as he took a step forward, uncrossing his arms as he reached for a stray piece of her bushy hair. Lordy, she really needed to tame that thing; it was like a mane of frizzy curls, and Dallas imagined a bolt of lightning striking her head.

"You really want to know what I wanna do?"

Ella pushed his hand away from herself, backing up and lifting her chin defiantly. "I'm being serious, pig."

There was an edge in her voice, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Dallas merely grinned, enjoying the rise he was getting out of her, and the fact that she automatically assumed he was being provocative. He was actually entertaining the idea of taking a bushwhacker to her hair.

"So was I, sweets." He pretended to think for a minute, before speaking again. "How about I meet you in the library after school? How's that sound?"

The look on her face was priceless. "Sure."

"Cool," he replied just as the warning bell rang. "See you there."

With that, he walked away, a grim smile barely curving his lips upward. He wondered if the girl would actually wait in the library for him or not, because he had absolutely _no_ intention of meeting her there.

He almost chuckled.

 _Sucker._

* * *

Ella pushed her hair away from her face, huffing. She couldn't stand Dallas Winston, and the thought that he'd _touched_ her made her stomach turn.

She'd have to bleach the part of her hair that he had made contact with. God only knew where he was last.

The thoughts made her shiver with revulsion. She wasn't looking forward to meeting him later, either.

As the final hours of the day approached, she found herself becoming more anxious. She told herself that she wasn't afraid of Dallas Winston, but knew she was only lying to herself.

She couldn't even look him in the eye when he had the audacity to get _that_ close to her.

When the final bell rang signaling the end of the day, Ella made her way to the library to wait for the notorious hoodlum that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

* * *

Ponyboy sat toward the back of the library, his homework scattered on the table in front of himself. He had been trying desperately to catch up on all of the work he'd missed, having been absent from school for nearly a month.

He couldn't flunk the marking period, he knew that, so to try and make up for everything, he had taken up extra time with his studies in hope that he would pass.

Most of his teachers had been lenient with him, especially Mr. Syme, his English teacher.

It was easier for him to work in the library rather than at home. If the guys were there, it was awfully too noisy for him to concentrate, so whenever he wasn't running track, he was up to his nose in homework.

With a sigh, he finished the last sentence of his history essay, before stuffing his papers inside of his book.

The sound of another book being slammed closed startled him from his thoughts, and he raised his eyes to see the girl who'd been occupying the table a few rows over from him stand up and begin tossing her books into her bag, before heading out.

As she was passing his table, he glanced up at her nervously. "You okay?"

She shot him a dark look, her frizzy hair seeming to static out in every direction.

"I'm fine," she responded in an icy tone.

It was then that Ponyboy recognized her. She was supposed to be tutoring Dallas to help him catch up on his studies.

Pony inwardly cringed. _Dallas_ and _studies_ didn't belong together in the same sentence.

"Your name is Ella," he stated in an obvious tone. At her confused look, he added, "I'm Ponyboy Curtis."

It took a second, but then her eyes widened in shock. "Oh, wow. I didn't know."

Pony shrugged. "It's okay."

Ella nodded, seemingly unsure of what to say.

The younger teen continued instead. "Aren't you Dally's tutor now?"

The look on her face became one of disdain. "Supposed to be. He said he would meet me here after school, but he never bothered to show up."

She was angry, Ponyboy could tell that much. She didn't seem stuck-up, but she didn't seem to be a very pleasant person. She wasn't a greaser girl by the looks of her, but she didn't exactly read Soc material, either.

His face dropped at her words. "Oh. Well, he might have forgotten."

In his mind he knew better, but you took up for your buddies, no matter what.

"Sure he did," Ella replied in a cool voice. She nodded to Ponyboy. "I have to go. If you see Dallas, tell him he's a jerk. It was nice meeting you, Ponyboy."

"You, too."

* * *

She couldn't believe she'd been stood up like that, but then again, what did she expect? It was Dallas Winston, after all. Did she actually expect him to show up for a study session?

Her pride had been hurt, and she was letting him get to her. Honestly, the one person she was angry with was Mr. Davis for setting this whole thing up. Why had he picked her in the first place?

She recognized Ponyboy Curtis from the paper last month. He and Johnny Cade had been the ones to kill Bob Sheldon, before running away for almost five days. She wasn't sure how Dallas tied into the whole thing, but it was assumed that he'd helped them escape town.

"Hunny, if you don't quit making that expression, you're going to have wrinkles before you turn twenty," Jan said, leaning on the counter beside her.

Ella snorted. "My life is gonna give me wrinkles, Jan."

"Oh, nonsense," the older woman replied, her expression then turning serious. "Everything okay?"

Instead of one of her usual responses, Ella shrugged. "Have you ever felt like everything in your life was against you?"

At this, Jan raised an eyebrow. "Well, sure, but you have to remember that your life is only what you make it. It's what you want it to be, so whenever you're writing it, don't let anyone else hold that pen."

Ella smiled at the older woman. She liked Jan well enough; she never pushed her or tried to get involved in her life.

She was never without some sort of advice, though, if anyone needed it, and Ella admired her wisdom, something her own mother never bothered to share with her.

* * *

The sound of Soda and Steve laughing could be heard coming from the Curtis house later that evening. Dallas stopped walking for a minute to look at their property, but shook his head before continuing on.

He knew the upcoming weekend would mark one month since—

He didn't want to think about it. He'd done a good job repressing his feelings his whole life, until that incident last month, and he wasn't _ever_ going to allow himself to feel like that again.

Dallas knew the boys were keeping a close eye on him, he wasn't stupid, and it honestly made him feel sick. Those dumb-asses should be looking out for Ponyboy, not him. That kid was a train wreck waiting to happen with his head in the fucking clouds all the time.

As he walked across the vacant lot, he noticed a lone figure leaning back against the old car seat, which was littered with newspapers. He moved closer, realizing that the person was Ponyboy.

It was awfully raw out and the kid didn't even have a damn jacket and was rubbing his arms fiercely.

Didn't he ever learn? Stupid-ass.

"What are you doin' out here?" Dally asked casually, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting up. He cursed under his breath when he realized that it was his last one.

Ponyboy practically jumped at the sound of his voice, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Dally.

He shrugged. "Nothin', just thinking."

"You do too much of that shit, kid," came the gruff response.

"I saw Ella after school today," Pony said, glancing quickly at Dally. "Why'd you stand her up?"

Kid got straight to the point, didn't he?

Dally almost laughed, but he was more amused than anything. "That broad actually waited for me?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Damn."

"Yeah," Pony replied sarcastically. He disliked how some of the guys referred to girls as broads, but he knew better than to get mouthy with Dallas.

It was quiet for a while, the two greasers not bothering to say anything else. Dally didn't know what the hell Ponyboy could be thinking about that could take up so much of his time. The kid sure had one hell of an imagination, though.

His thoughts drifted to . . . Ella? . . . as he pictured her waiting for him with a pout on her face, hair frizzing more and more the angrier she got.

She was a piece of work, and a real dope, too.

"Hey, Dal," Pony called, and the older boy grunted in return, all thoughts of Dopey Ella gone. "Have you ever . . . seen a sunset?"

"A what?" Dally asked, caught off guard. Had he just seriously asked him that?

Ponyboy cleared his throat, looking rather put-off. "A sunset."

The blond teen stared hard at him, causing him to look away. Dally wondered briefly what in the almighty universe was in those cigarettes Ponyboy smoked.

"You're fucking crazy."

"Johnny wanted you to look at one."

The statement caused him to wince inside, not that he would ever admit it. Johnny had wanted him to look at a sunset? What a crock of shit.

Nobody had mentioned Johnny since . . . shit, he couldn't remember. The last time he had said Johnny's name was to Darry the night he'd robbed that store, and it was to tell him that Johnny was dead over the phone.

He'd been informed about his funeral, but he didn't attend. He _couldn't_. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to remember any of it.

Fuckin' Ponyboy. He was lucky he was at a far enough distance that Dally couldn't reach him, or else he might have fed him his fist.

Instead, he stubbed out his cigarette. "Yeah, well, Johnny's dead."

He didn't see Ponyboy flinch as he walked away, not bothering to look back.

* * *

Ella impatiently watched the clock tick down the final hour of her shift. She had exactly twenty minutes left before she could head home. She was the only employee in the store, since it was her night to close. Jan had only left an hour ago, so it wasn't that bad.

She was feeling a little calmer than she had been earlier, having realized that she was more upset than angry. She decided that she wasn't responsible for Dallas Winston, and if he didn't want to help himself, she wasn't going to help him, either.

She would just have to tell Mr. Davis that Dallas wasn't cooperative and she wasn't going to waste her time on him; he wasn't worth her trouble.

She looked up as the bell gave a little ding, alerting her of a customer's entrance. Nobody usually bothered to shop this late at night, and she wondered who had walked in.

Her calm mood seemed to fade as the customer swaggered up to the counter, a blank look on his face.

 _Speak of the devil . . ._

Ella pushed down her fear, but remembered that this was the same guy who had held a gun up to a cashier like her just one month ago before taking the money from the register and bolting.

The towheaded greaser glanced at her, a cocky grin on his face. It was just real convenient that he showed up at the store she worked at on her shift.

"So, did you wait for me?" he mocked, a mysterious glint in his blue orbs. At her silence, he continued on. "Didn't know you worked here, sweets."

"What do you want?" Ella asked, attempting to keep the bite out of her voice.

"Is that any way to treat a customer?" Dally inquired, staring at her intensely. She wondered if he was even seeing her or not.

She sighed. "Fine, what can I—" His shit-eating grin caused her to grit her teeth, her mood souring again as she remembered how he deliberately stood her up that afternoon. "No, you know what? No. What do you want?"

Dallas looked around for a few seconds, pretending to find something to purchase, or _steal_. Ella was growing more irritated by the second. She didn't think she could hate anyone as much as she hated him.

"Two packs of Kool."

Ella pulled the packs down from the shelf behind herself, making sure to keep forward, eyes watching Dallas suspiciously.

She didn't trust him, and she didn't like being alone with him.

She carefully slid the packs toward him on the counter, not making eye contact, her movements very hesitant.

Dallas merely stared at her.

"I don't want any trouble," she admitted in a barely audible voice. She knew that he shoplifted, and she didn't want any of _those_ particular issues with him, so she figured if she just offered them up he'd be on his way without hassling her.

The look in his eyes was unreadable, but she was sure it was bordering something along the lines of contempt, or rather, she was expressing it at him.

"Don't worry, _sweets_ ," he said in the most bitter voice she'd ever heard as he slammed some change down on the counter.

With that, he turned away, leaving her standing there in bewilderment.

 _But the guns still rattles_

 _The gun still rattles, oh_


	3. Balance

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Christina Grimmie owns "Maybe I."**

* * *

 _I'm tryna find a balance_

 _But I'm stuck, I'm standing on a tilt-a-whirl_

 _Always looking down when_

 _Everything around me starts to crumble and fall_

 **October 15, 1965**

Ella wondered why she had been called down to Mr. Davis's office again Friday morning. When she saw Dallas enter the room a few minutes after herself, she ground her teeth.

Mr. Davis, who was right behind him, walked in and sat at his desk.

"I wanted to ask the two of you how tutoring was going," he stated casually, although there was a look of uncertainty on his face.

"It's going," Dallas answered quickly, though he sounded completely at ease.

Ella's eyes widened in disbelief.

Mr. Davis turned to her. "Is that so, Miss Mitchell? Would you say that Mr. Winston has shown any improvement academically?"

There was a sudden lump in her throat, and she felt a little light-headed. Her eyes shifted over to Dallas slowly, and she noticed that he was staring back at her, a hard look in his own eyes.

Without thinking, she answered. "Yes, Sir."

Mr. Davis hummed, shuffling through some of the papers that littered his desk. He didn't say anything for a minute, and Ella was left to wonder why she had lied about tutoring Dallas.

Perhaps it was because she had actually felt bad for assuming that he was going to steal from the store she worked at Wednesday night?

No. That couldn't be it.

If anything, she had only felt shocked that he even _had_ the money to pay for cigarettes. She knew that wasn't completely true, though.

She bit her lip, telling herself it was just a show of gratitude for not giving her too much trouble at the grocery store.

She didn't bother to look at the hood again, instead choosing to keep her gaze on the gray carpet beneath her feet.

"I find that hard to believe, Miss Mitchell," Mr. Davis admitted, rubbing his fingers against his chin as he stared down at a file. "I've reviewed some of Mr. Winston's work from his classes this past week, and there has been no improvement shown what-so-ever." He glanced once at Dallas, awaiting an explanation.

The blond offered a cocky grin, eyebrows raising suggestively. "You didn't specify _which_ subject we were currently studying, Sir."

Ella's face turned a shade as Mr. Davis frowned, his age lines becoming more apparent. He didn't seem too enthused about the idea of being around Dallas to begin with, and the greaser's smart remarks were only making the situation more unpleasant for him.

His gray eyes finally met Dallas's blue ones. "Do you think this is a game, Mr. Winston?"

Dallas only stared coolly at the older man, not showing any emotion, and Ella wondered if he even had any feelings at all, or if he was really that stoic all the time.

Mr. Davis shook his head. "Let me make this clear for you, Mr. Winston. This school has only agreed to enroll you in your senior year under the stipulation that you pass your classes. Would you rather throw this opportunity away so that you may spend five years in prison?"

Ella's lips parted at the man's words, shock evident on her face. The wheels were turning in her head as she began piecing the situation together.

Dallas was only in school to avoid a five year prison sentence.

She briefly wondered if it had anything to do with what happened last month.

She knew he had supposedly assisted Johnny Cade and Ponyboy Curtis in leaving town after the former murdered Bob Sheldon, and she knew that after Johnny Cade passed away he'd robbed a store and was then shot down by the police after pointing a gun at them.

Was a year of school really the bargain he had agreed to in order to stay out of jail?

Ella thought that was ludicrous, but then again, she didn't know the full story, either.

Suddenly, she didn't feel so much anger directed at the towheaded boy, but she did feel sorry for him. She didn't pity him, though, and she wasn't sure why she even felt sorry; he deserved everything he got, as far as she was concerned.

Dallas still hadn't bothered to respond to Mr. Davis, instead remaining planted in his seat with a blank expression veiling his features.

The principal sighed, leaning forward and folding his hands atop his desk. "I will give you both one more chance. Mr. Winston, if your work does not improve, then I'm afraid attending this institution will no longer qualify as an option for you."

Ella barely had time to acknowledge the fact that Dallas was on his feet, already exiting the office with his fists jammed in his pockets, his trademark scowl back on his face.

She followed out after him a moment later, jogging to catch up to him and looking like a buffoon in the process.

Her voice rang through the hall as she called his name, causing him to stop and glance back at her impatiently.

She took a breath. "Look, I know none of this is your . . . style, but do you want to pass this year or not?"

Dallas only stared at her. "I really don't give a shit, girl."

Ella pursed her lips, wondering why she was even bothering with him. She didn't buy his words, though. There had to be _some_ reason he was there instead of jail, one she was sure she would never know or understand.

"I could help you, you know."

At this, Dallas arched an eyebrow, but he looked far from interested. "Sweets, you couldn't if you actually wanted to."

She grinned in spite of herself. "I wasn't talking mentally. I meant with school."

The blond's lips curved slightly at her witty response, but other than that, he remained unreadable. "Tell you what, sweets . . . You want to do this so bad? Come to Buck's place tonight. Know where it is?"

Ella's breath caught in her throat. She knew who Buck the cowboy was, and she knew what his roadhouse was notorious for. Almost everyone, unless they lived under a rock, knew about that place.

She had never been there, though. It was too wild for her, and she didn't fancy the idea of meeting Dallas Winston there for a tutoring session, either.

His words from earlier plunged into her mind.

 _You didn't specify which subject we were currently studying, Sir._

"Yeah, I know where it is, but—"

"Good, then I'll see you tonight," he said briskly, and turned away from her as he walked away.

* * *

Dallas ventured through the rest of his classes, wondering why in the fuck he ever agreed to this. Was five years in the cooler really that bad?

Maybe he was just trying to prove something?

Yeah, right. That would be the day.

So why in the hell had he told Dopey to meet him at Buck's that night? He couldn't picture himself studying anything worth a shit, and the aggravation was beginning to dig itself under his skin.

Well, he knew _one_ thing. He wouldn't be caught dead in the library in the middle of a tutoring session, either. At least Buck's was more . . . private. Sort of.

The thought, _the very_ fucking visual, in his mind of himself sitting there exchanging notes with this broad and talking about school shit almost drove him insane.

So again, he asked himself why he had ever agreed to this? _Any_ of it?

It was bad enough having the whole fucking population of Tulsa knowing what happened last month, the constant whispers, the judgmental staring, and the pestering questions about the shootout with the fuzz.

It had only been one week since he'd started at Will Rogers High School, and Dallas was ready, so _very_ ready, to leave.

He hadn't done anything illegal in a month, hadn't been in a good fight since the rumble . . . and oh _how_ he was itching for one. He needed to blow off some steam, and he was just waiting for another fucking Soc to look at him wrong before he beat the ever living shit out of him.

Dallas's teeth were grinding together so hard he was surprised they didn't just shatter from the pressure.

* * *

Ella finished up her homework early that afternoon, attempting to ignore the butterflies that were swarming around in her stomach.

She wasn't sure what she was more nervous about, meeting Dallas Winston, or actually going to Buck's roadhouse that evening.

It was a Friday night, and the place was sure to be buzzing with hormonal teenagers, sleazy cowboys, and hitchhikers from all over.

Ella internally grimaced. She was most definitely _not_ looking forward to it. She wasn't even sure why she had offered her help to the blond hood in the first place.

She kept thinking about Mr. Davis's words, and some part of her figured that if she was chosen to help Winston, there had to be some damn good reason for it.

Still, to her, he was just a job.

The front door opening and closing distracted her from her thoughts as she glanced up from her place at the kitchen table to see her mother.

Frances Mitchell was only in her forties, but she looked almost ten years older. Her thinning hair, that was beginning to gray, was pulled back into a ponytail, and her pale blue eyes, which were outlined by age lines, were tired and distant.

She offered her daughter a faint smile. "How was school?"

"Fine," was the vague answer.

Ella and her mother had a very remote relationship. It wasn't because either didn't care for the other, but more so because they barely saw enough of each other to actually form a bond.

Still, every day, Frances would ask her daughter about her day, and Ella would have dinner in the makings, unless she went straight to work after school, then her mother would have something waiting for her when she returned.

Between school and work, which collided with her mother's work schedule, Ella only saw her once a day, and only for a few hours at a time, if that.

"It's Friday, you know," Frances stated, stirring the pot of sauce on the stove.

Ella nodded. "I know."

"Any plans?"

The teen nearly groaned. She couldn't tell her mother that she was going to meet Dallas Winston at Buck's place. The last thing that she needed was for her mother to have a heart attack right there on the kitchen floor.

She shrugged instead. "I might catch a movie, I don't know yet."

Frances shot her a look. "Don't be too late, you hear? I don't want you walking these streets at night. It's not safe."

Ella swallowed the lump in her throat. Boy howdy, if her mother only knew where her plans were leading her that night. Talk about safe . . .

* * *

Dallas stood by the back of the school waiting for Ponyboy to finish up with his track meet.

Normally, he would have beat it out of there as soon as his last class was finished, but since he'd "accidentally" fallen asleep in art again, and had "mistakenly" referred to Mrs. Gird _-lay_ as Mrs. Gir- _dle_ one too many times, he had landed himself her promised detention.

Any other time, he would have laughed it off and not even bothered to show up, but since his _freedom_ depended on _good behavior,_ he made an exception for the woman.

There was something interesting about Mrs. Girdlé, though, like the way she didn't look at him like he was the dirt beneath the sole of her shoe, and how when she scolded him she wasn't talking down to him.

She treated him like she treated every other student in her class. Equally.

Dallas wasn't sure if he liked the plump woman or not, but it was sure as shit fun to give her a small dose of a rough time.

He had spent one hour, _sixty fucking minutes,_ scrubbing paint brushes. Glory, were those things caked with some nasty shit.

Dally sneered at the stained skin on his hands as he took a drag of his cigarette, leaning back against the high school's exterior and wondering what the fuck was taking the kid so long.

A thought crossed his mind of Ponyboy possibly being in some kind of trouble, but just before he could toss his half smoked cigarette away, the kid wandered out of the building, arms hanging limp at his sides, a forlorn look in his eyes.

There was something unusual about his appearance. Dally took a good look at him, before he noticed it.

"Where the fuck are your shoes?"

Pony nearly jumped at the hood's booming voice. "Huh?"

The blond rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, man. Your shoes . . ."

The younger greaser looked down at his stocking covered feet, realization and humiliation blanketing his light features.

"Oh." He didn't say anything for a minute, aimlessly staring at Dally's elfin face. And then, ever so quietly, did he speak. "Must have forgotten them again."

Dallas blinked, brows pulling together. _Again?_

Aggravation began settling in. "Well, go back and get them so we can blow this joint."

He didn't miss the zeroed out expression on the younger teen's face, but he ignored it.

What he didn't know was how much misery Ponyboy was feeling, and sometimes, _just sometimes_ , he really hated Dallas Winston's guts because he reminded him of everything, _of Johnny,_ and because he had tried to get himself killed.

Sometimes, Ponyboy thought that Dallas hated him back, and he wondered, too, why the older hood hadn't died that night one month ago.

* * *

The air was chilly, causing Ella to pull her coat tighter around herself as she walked to Buck's. Her teeth were chattering, and she tucked her chin to her chest to try and keep warm.

It was only a little after seven, but somehow felt later, and the cool weather was only making it worse on the girl.

She wished she had a car, but there was no way in hell that she could afford one, and her mother needed hers to get to work that night, so she was stuck walking.

Ella ground her teeth, telling herself to just suck it up; she wasn't that far from the damn place. The sound of country music steered her from her thoughts; it wasn't obnoxiously loud, but she could hear the muffled noise projecting into the open lot.

With a sigh, she knocked on the door, clutching her school bag against herself. For a moment, she wondered if Dallas would even be there, if he just wanted to make a fool out of her for the second time.

She wouldn't put it past him to pull another stunt like that.

The door opened, the screen nearly clocking her in the face, and she found herself looking up at the owner himself. He wasn't drunk, but he looked clearly disgruntled about something.

Buck held her gaze with contempt, arms crossed and one brow raised. "What do ya want, girl?"

Ella's eyes flickered to her saddle shoes. "Dallas Winston," she answered in a low voice. "He told me to meet him here."

When he didn't say anything, she looked back at him, only to find him sizing her up. It wasn't a provocative stare, but one of uncertainty, as if he didn't believe she was there to see the jailbird.

The exchange only lasted a second or two, before the rugged cowboy shook his head, muttering out a quiet "yeah" as he moved aside to let her in.

The girl's face scrunched as the intoxicating smell of tobacco and alcohol wafted through her nostrils, causing her to hold her breath. The sound of the music was louder now, blending with the balls on the pool table smacking into each other, and the mindless chatter of the few strays at the bar.

Ella felt very out of place as she stood there looking for any sign of Dallas. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage, a feeling of panic creeping up her spine. She lowered her head, hoping her bushy hair would create a curtain between herself and the other people occupying the room.

"So you came," a rough voice said from behind her.

Ella jerked around, a surprised expression on her face as she looked up into the cold gaze of Dallas Winston. He was standing there shirtless, pool stick in hand, one side of his lips curving up.

Her eyes wandered over his bare chest for a brief second, and she cringed inside at the various scars that littered his skin, the several bullet marks standing out more than anything else.

Her only response was a curt nod.

Dallas eyed her for a second, noticing how uneasy she looked. Well, damn, he thought with wry amusement, now that the girl was out of her comfort zone, she could hardly utter a word.

He directed her to the stairs. "I got a game to finish, so you might as well just head on up. I'll be there in a few." At her confused expression, he gave her a shove forward. "Second room on the left."

Ella turned quickly and followed his directions. The door was closed, but she walked in anyway, wondering if she should shut it behind herself or not.

With a sigh, she decided to just close it, before she sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering what in the world she was getting herself into.

She didn't belong here, and her nerves were only making her feel worse. Golly, she was an idiot. She didn't even understand what she was afraid of . . . certainly not Winston.

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, and then relaxed.

True to his word, Dallas entered the bedroom about ten minutes later, kicking the door shut and moving across the room to crack the window.

Before Ella could protest about the cold temperature, he lit up a cigarette and sat down on the desk in front in her, blowing the smoke in her direction.

"Smoking kills, you know," she mumbled after a while, fingering a spare thread on the quilt.

"Life kills." Dally narrowed his eyes at her a little, finishing up the cigarette and stubbing it in the ashtray. "What's in the bag?"

Ella glanced at her purple and green school bag beside herself. "School stuff."

The greaser moved off of the desk and sat beside her on the bed, watching with sheer entertainment as she shifted away from him, edging herself closer to the foot of the mattress.

"So, Ella, is it?" he questioned, jerking his chin toward her. "Ella Mitchell."

She nodded. "You have good hearing, but I'm not here to talk about me."

Dallas snorted, but then a sly grin formed across his mouth. "Whatever you say, sweets. So, what _are_ ya gonna talk to me about, then?"

A book landed beside him. "English. Maybe you can improve your vocabulary."

* * *

An hour or so had went by and Dally was bored out of his mind. How in the fuck did anyone enjoy this shit? Better yet, how did anyone enjoy _teaching_ it?

He was becoming restless and irritable because of it. He vaguely remembered going over what Ella was trying to teach him in class, but he hadn't hardly payed attention.

"Alright, I'm done with this shit," he bit out, grabbing for another cigarette. "Christ a'mighty."

The brown-haired girl glared at him. "We _were_ almost finished with the chapter, you know."

Dally waved her off. "Yeah, yeah. Well I'm finished _now_."

Ella stared at him for a moment, a glint in her eyes, which he realized were blue. "Have you ever read a book before?"

The towheaded greaser nearly laughed. "Sweets, the only reason I'd ever have a damn book would be to bash someone's head in."

She rolled her eyes, lips curling back and revealing her one crooked tooth up top that bucked over the one next to it. Dallas chuckled to himself. Crooked teeth for a crooked gal.

After shoving her books inside of her bag, Ella finally turned to actually face Dallas. "Is it true what Mr. Davis said . . . about you only being in school to avoid a five year sentence?"

The last part was said more quietly than the first, and Dally imagined that she had probably been thinking about that since she'd heard it. Nevertheless, it wasn't any of her fucking business, as far as he was concerned.

"Thought we weren't talkin' 'bout each other," he answered instead, the bitterness in his voice seeping through. He nodded to the clock on the dresser. It was only quarter to nine, but Dally had plans other than entertaining Dopey any longer. "Ain't it about time you headed out?"

Ella only gave him a cool stare, but grabbed her bag and made her way to the door, noticing that the music was louder than earlier and laughter could be heard. It sounded pretty rowdy in comparison to when she had first arrived.

"Am I going to have to chase you down in order to plan the next session? You never did tell me why you stood me up the first time."

Dally only shrugged. "I had plans, sweets." He tossed a shirt over his head, followed by a jean jacket. "Guess you'll have to find me on Monday."

 _And it's a high when you're low_

 _It's a yes but then it don't_

 _It ain't what you think, it's what you know_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! Feedback is always appreciated. I'm glad that you guys are enjoying the story so far. :3**


	4. Drifting

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton own The Outsiders. Metallica owns "Fade To Black."**

* * *

 _Life, it seems, will fade away_

 _Drifting further every day_

 _Getting lost within myself_

 _Nothing matters, no one else_

 **October 17, 1965**

 _Stay Gold, Ponyboy. Stay Gold._

That had been Johnny's infamous last words, telling fuckin' Ponyboy to remain a yellow hue. Yeah, good goin', kid. Way to dig deep.

Dallas groaned, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the light seeping through the curtains. What day was it again? Saturday? Sunday?

He remembered getting plastered after Dopey took her leave Friday night, and he'd spent all day sleeping off one hell of a hangover the day after that, so it must have been Sunday.

It was officially one month since Johnny died, and Dallas had been doing a swell job trying to force any recollection he had of that day out of his mind.

His way of forgetting was by consuming a prodigious amount of alcohol until he was certain every part of his body was numb, which was followed by spilling his guts multiple times after that and then sleeping the rest of it off.

At this rate, he would be surprised if his liver was still intact.

A moan sounded from beside him, causing him to sit up quickly and see who was there. He squinted at the sleeping girl.

He almost thought it might be Sylvia, but Sylvia had chocolate colored hair and stark green eyes. This one had blond hair and brown eyes, if he was seeing correctly.

So, apparently, he'd spent the night throwing up, sleeping, _and_ fucking. Terrific. Was there anything else that he didn't know about that needed to be added to the makeshift list?

Whoever the broad was had to go. Dally wasn't in the mood to deal with a cranky hungover chick at . . . what fucking time was it?

Nine thirty.

Sitting up, he reached for his pants and pulled them on, his head pounding something awful.

He gave the girl's shoulder a rough shaking, before she opened her eyes, an angered expression in them.

"What?" she whined, glaring at him.

"Get your shit and git'out," he said hardly, tossing a skirt in her direction. When she made no effort to move, he ripped the covers off of her, before finding the rest of her clothes and throwing them at her. "You deaf or somethin', girl? Move yer ass."

The blond finally complied, rapidly dressing herself and hurrying out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

Good riddance, Dallas thought as he made his way into the bathroom to splash some water onto his face, catching sight of himself in the mirror.

Glory, he sure needed to see a barber.

* * *

"You gonna be alright here by yourself, kiddo?"

Ponyboy turned to face the doorway of the bedroom where Sodapop was standing, a look of concern in his brown orbs.

He sighed. "Yeah, why not? I've spent lots of time by my lonesome before."

Soda rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know, Pony. With everything that's happened, Darry and me . . . we don't like you spendin' so much time by yourself."

It wasn't meant as an insult, Pony knew, but sometimes it just got on his nerves how protective everyone was of him. Golly, it wasn't like he was going to disappear in thin air on them or something like that.

Deep down, he knew both Darry and Soda worried about him and were only doing their best to look out for him, but he was worried about them, too. He wished everything could go back to the way it was, when things were simple.

Pony only offered his brother a look of reassurance. "I'll be okay, Soda. Go on."

The golden-haired greaser grinned softly. "We'll be back soon."

The sound of the door closing, followed by the voices outside his window, let the youngest Curtis know that Soda and Two-Bit had left, leaving him alone in the house.

He wasn't sure where they were off to, just that they were meeting up with Steve. Soda had invited him earlier, but the youngest greaser explained that he still had some school work to catch up on.

Surprisingly, Darry had encouraged him to get out for a while, but Ponyboy was persistent. He hadn't been too eager to do much of anything lately.

Between school, his never-ending load of homework, and track, Ponyboy was feeling its toll.

His eyes wandered up to the calendar that hung above the desk, the date causing a knot to form in his stomach. Everyone knew what day it was, and Pony figured that was why his brothers were worried about leaving him alone.

With the air getting chillier and Darry working more often at his second job, money was tighter. He wasn't roofing houses as much, which meant that his income was less.

Soda working full time at the DX was _just_ covering the bills that month.

Ponyboy sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead, before his gaze landed on a blue, soft-copy of _Gone With The Wind._ He picked it up, remembering Johnny's note that had been stuffed inside.

It was only last week that he'd found it folded up neatly between the pages. He'd been working hard on his English theme, too, hoping that it was good enough to pass the marking period. Johnny's letter had given him the boost he needed to get started.

His thoughts drifted back to Dallas, an anger still directed at him. Ponyboy couldn't understand why the towheaded boy had been so cold to him the other night in the lot.

It wasn't like _he_ was the only one who had lost Johnny.

But then, Pony rationalized as he flipped through the pages of his composition book. Johnny had been the _only_ thing Dally loved.

And today only served as a reminder that Dally had lost him. It was also a month ago today that Dallas had been shot down by the cops, and Ponyboy found himself toying with some ideas for the ending of his English theme.

He began writing, a grim, though proud, smile on his lips.

* * *

"How's the kid holding up?"

Surprisingly, it was Steve who had asked this. He would never let on that he was concerned about his buddy's younger pest of a brother, but he was.

He knew how close he and Johnny had been. It reminded him of his friendship with Soda, and he didn't know what he'd do if something happened to his happy-go-lucky friend.

Soda shrugged, picking at a fry. "He ain't the exact same, but he'll be alright, I think. You know Pony, he's a trooper."

To anyone else, Soda would have sounded sure of himself, but both Steve and Two-Bit knew him better than that.

They hadn't missed the sporadic misshapes that had been taking place the past week, like Pony walking home from school without his shoes, Pony losing track of time, and Pony growing very detached from everyone who cared about him.

Two-Bit grinned, though, grabbing one of Soda's fries as Steve took his turn to bowl. "You got that straight, man. He'll come through, just give him some time. Hell, if I was him, I'd about lost my head for sure; probably would have left that empty shell on a bus to somewhere off the map."

Soda had to smile. Two-Bit was always a comical fellow, but he sure knew how to put things in perspective while being goofy at the same time. Good ol' Two-Bit.

"You see Dally in school?" Soda suddenly asked, changing the topic. "He don't come 'round the house no more."

Steve nodded, taking a swig of his coke. "Yeah, Pony didn't tell you? He's got some girl tutoring him so he can catch up on the work. Well, at least, she's supposed to be tutoring him."

Soda nearly chocked. "Dally? With a tutor? Who?"

"Ella Mitchell," the dark-haired greaser answered. "Don't know her or nothin', but she's a strange bird. Evie said she don't talk to none of the other girls."

"Never heard of her," Soda replied, furrowing his brows. "I didn't know any of that, though."

He figured Ponyboy had been too busy to mention any of it to him, but Two-Bit jumped in to explain the situation with Dallas's latest school adventures.

The golden-haired greaser wondered about Dallas. Like Ponyboy, he was definitely acting different, but it was understandable. At least Ponyboy hadn't tried to have himself killed.

Dally was a different breed, though. Losing Johnny had been his breaking point, but now, instead of the hardened, tough-as-nails hood he'd used to be, he was just bitter and cruel. Oh, his prior characteristics were still there, Soda knew, but they were boiling deeper beneath the surface.

If the gang had thought him dangerous before, he was a ticking time bomb now. He had already blown his top one month ago, but now he was repressing everything, and Soda wondered how much more the guy could take before he _really_ did something insane.

The thought caused him to grimace. He wasn't sure what could be worse than his previous antic.

He and Ponyboy were certainly taking everything the hardest.

It had shocked the remaining group that he hadn't just subjected himself to the five year sentence. Who would have thought that Dallas Winston would ever go to school?

Nevertheless, Soda wouldn't deny that he was proud of his buddy.

He just hoped Dally himself would see it through.

* * *

Ella aimlessly browsed through some assorted records, looking for new music to add to her non-stop growing collection.

Walking to the front of the store, she glanced at the new releases that were on display near the window. The Beatles's "Revolver" was full in stock, the cover facing to the side of her.

With a grin, she grabbed a copy and headed to the counter to purchase her new items.

Sylvia Evans stood behind the counter, a dull look on her porcelain face. Ella had known her from school, before the girl had dropped out in her junior year. She was a year older than Ella at eighteen and a half, but they had shared some classes.

The two were cordial to one another, and they chatted every time Ella would come into the music store.

Sylvia smiled at the top album; it was only a few months old. "You dig The Beatles?"

Ella nodded, her cheeks tinting a little. "I don't get why a lot of people don't. I personally like them."

The chocolate-haired girl shrugged. "Beats the hell outta me. They've got some pretty catchy songs as far as I've heard. 'Sides, music is music, right?"

"Exactly," Ella agreed as Sylvia rang her up and gave her the total.

As the younger girl was fishing her money out of her purse, Sylvia spoke. "So, is it true that you are hanging around Dallas Winston?"

Ella's blue eyes widened. She knew that Sylvia and Dallas had been dating for the past year, and she didn't want the older girl to think there was anything going on between the two of them.

She assumed that Sylvia must have heard word through her friends that were still in school, and Ella was quick to make sure that she had the truth. She didn't want any trouble in _that_ department.

"It ain't like that," she defended herself. "It's . . . school related."

Sylvia almost chuckled at Ella's shocked expression. "Don't worry, I wasn't accusing you of nothin'. Me an' Dally haven't been together in over a month." She sighed. "I guess I was just . . . well, I was wondering how he's doin', I suppose. I ain't seen him around."

"Oh." Ella visibly relaxed. "Well, I suppose he's alright. He seems okay anyway." She wasn't sure how much truth was in that statement, but it was really all she knew.

She wondered about Sylvia's past relationship with Dallas. They weren't too much alike in terms of personality, but they dug some of the same things. They both participated in the rodeo, both liked racing horses, and both were pretty damn good at it.

Sylvia's father was a rancher who had co-worked the rodeo every Summer, so she had grown up knowing quite a bit about it. She wasn't a dumb girl, that was for sure, but she'd made some real lousy life choices, like dropping out of school and dating guys like Dallas Winston.

If Ella was honest with herself, though, she kind of admired Sylvia. She was smart where it counted, and she didn't let nothing get to her.

Sylvia finally responded. "Well, that's good to know. I'm glad that he's . . . alright, especially with what happened last month."

"Yeah," Ella agreed. She gave Sylvia an apologetic look. "I'd better get goin', though. I promised my mom I'd have dinner ready before she got home."

Sylvia smiled, waving her off. "See you around."

* * *

The sound of somebody approaching from behind startled the young greaser out of his thoughts. Ponyboy turned around to meet the dark and solemn gaze of Dallas Winston.

He stared at him, wondering what was different about the older boy, until he realized that his face was cleaned up and his hair wasn't as straggly as it had been the last time he'd seen him.

The younger boy almost cracked a smile; it wasn't every day that Dallas Winston would see a barber just to fix his constant disheveled appearance. He hated having his hair cut, and he didn't like oil or anything, so it was usually unkempt, but now it looked much better.

Ponyboy internally groaned. He wished his hair would grow out to its natural color already. The blond color that Johnny had bleached it made him look like a pansy and he hated it. At least his roots were darkening to their original shade of red-brown.

"What are you doin' here, kid?" Dally inquired, even though he already knew the answer.

Pony shrugged. "Guess I just wanted to visit him, well, him and Mom and Dad, too." A small smile crept over his lips. "Actually, I was taking a walk and my feet kinda brought me here."

Dally nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hadn't spoken much to Ponyboy since that night in the lot, except for the few times he'd seen him in school, or when he'd waited the other night for him after his track meet.

Ponyboy rarely spoke to the gang, and Dallas had hardly been around to know anything that was going on, so he didn't know what the kid's deal was.

He looked at Johnny's headstone, a blank look on his face. He wasn't sure why he had decided to come to the cemetery in the first place, but part of him had wanted to visit Johnny, too.

He'd seen Pony's bleached-blond head from the street and decided to approach the youngest member of the gang, though he hadn't meant to intrude; Ponyboy had obviously heard him walking up the path.

"Darry's been askin' about you," the younger greaser stated, turning to fully face the hood. "I think he's worried about you . . ."

He trailed on, leaving Dallas to contemplate his words. Darrel worried too much about everyone and everything; he was surely going to turn gray before he hit thirty if he kept it up, Dally was positive.

"How is the big man holdin' up?" he questioned, adverting the attention away from himself.

Ponyboy squinted. "Working too much and not resting enough."

"Sounds like him."

The two greasers were quiet for a while, the sound of a few leaves sweeping across the ground being the only noise around them.

Suddenly, Pony spoke again, his back toward Dallas now as his clouded green eyes remained focused on Johnny's marker in front of them.

"Do you miss him?"

It sounded like a dumb question, but Ponyboy wanted to hear Dallas admit it, that way he knew the older teen had felt something, that he was _capable_ of feeling.

Dallas was somewhat appalled by the inquiry, and he wasn't sure what to say.

Of course he missed Johnny, but he didn't want to think about that. Johnny had been his pet, like a kid brother to him, and confessing that he missed the kid would be admitting that he was _gone_.

"Look, man—"

"Do you miss him?" This time, Pony turned back to look the older boy directly in the eyes as he repeated the question in a harder voice, an expression on his face that Dallas was sure he'd never witnessed before.

Dally's countenance shifted, too, his eyes beginning to blaze with anger. He didn't like the way Pony was coming off to him, like he was attempting to interrogate him. Who the hell did this kid think he was?

Pony's eyes narrowed. He was no coward, Dally would give him that, but choosing to mess with him was not the right move. Just because he was Darry's and Soda's kid brother didn't mean it would excuse him from a whack upside the head—kid needed to learn.

Before he could speak, the younger boy beat him to it. "You selfish bastard. Is that why you did it, huh? Did you think you were the only one who lost him?"

The blond teen's brows rose, but he remained apathetic otherwise.

In his mind, he was slightly shocked at Pony's sudden outburst; he'd never seen him quite like this, and he found himself mildly concerned. His behavior reminded him of the night when he and Johnny had showed up at Buck's looking for him to get them out of town.

The kid was distraught.

Normally, Dallas would have belted anyone who dared to speak to him like that, but looking at Pony right then, he found that he couldn't. Hell, he figured the kid had a right to be pissed, but that didn't mean he had to stand there and take it, either.

Before he could utter a word, though, the younger greaser began walking away, making sure to deliberately knock his arm into Dally's.

Dallas stared at the spot where Pony stood only seconds ago, before his eyes settled on Johnny's headstone, a combination of anger, worry, and hatred swirling inside of himself.

"Dammit, Johnny."

* * *

"Pony, how much longer?" Soda groaned from his side of the bed later that night. "It's getting late and I have to go in early tomorrow."

Ponyboy sighed, finishing the final page of his book. "Glory, Soda, rush me right to the end."

"Yeah, well—"

"I know, I know," the younger boy said, turning the light off as he crawled under the covers. "Hey, Soda?"

"Hmm?" came the sleepy response.

Pony leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. He'd been thinking about Dallas since their encounter in the cemetery. He hadn't bothered to tell his brothers about it, mostly because he felt bad about how he treated the older teen.

"Do you think . . . if you lose the only thing you care about, you wouldn't have a reason to live anymore?"

Soda blinked in the dark. "What now?"

Beside him, Pony released a deep breath. "I was just thinking, if you lost the one thing you really only cared about, would you stop living?"

"Gee, Pone, I don't know," Soda answered with a yawn. "Say, what's got you thinkin' about this stuff anyway?"

Ponyboy shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I was remembering that night . . ."

"You mean Dally." It wasn't a question, and the younger boy knew that. It was Soda's turn to sigh. "Listen here, kiddo, Dally . . . he's different, you know that. He deals with stuff in his own way, which ain't always a good way, or the right way, but that's just it. He don't know any other way, dig?"

"Sure."

The middle Curtis boy turned on his side, facing his younger brother as he recalled his earlier thoughts from that day. "Pony, we're all worried about him, but he's gotta sort things out on his own. He'll come around eventually."

Pony nodded. "If he doesn't lose himself first."

"Hey now," Soda cut in, patting his brother's arm, "enough of that. Dal is gonna be just fine, ya hear? He just needs some space right now."

"I'll say."

Soda merely grinned. "Get some sleep."

* * *

The tip of the cigarette glowed as he took a deep drag. It was the only source of faint light that he had at the moment. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing in the same spot on the bridge overlooking the river, but he assumed it'd been some time; it had gotten dark a while ago.

Ponyboy's words had been replaying in his head since the fucker stormed off and left him standing in the cemetery by himself.

Today not only marked the one month anniversary of Johnny's death, but it also marked one month since Dally himself had nearly died. Ever since he'd woken up back in the hospital, he had been asking himself the same question.

 _Why?_

Why had he lived?

He _didn't_ _want_ to. That was the whole fucking reason why he'd done what he had. Too bad the fucking fuzz didn't have a better aim. But it didn't matter anymore, did it? Nothing did.

Like Johnny, the final embers of the cigarette died out, and Dallas was left in the dark once more.

 _No one but me can save myself, but it's too late,_

 _Now I can't think, think why I should even try_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for the reviews! You guys are awesome! Feedback is always appreciated. :3**


	5. Change

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Pop Evil owns "Monster You Made."**

* * *

 _I'm better alone now_

 _See I'm torn from my mistakes_

 _And I stop believing that I could ever make things change_

 _How much can I take_

 **October 18, 1965**

Dallas ground his teeth together as he sat in the back of the art room. His clothes were soaked, and sitting in the wet and cold material was becoming uncomfortable.

He had "talked" Buck into letting him drive the car since it was raining that morning, but it had conveniently gotten worse just as he pulled into the parking lot.

He cursed Mother Nature all the way into the building as the sky dumped buckets over him, shoving everyone out of his way so he could get inside quicker. Unfortunately, by the time he'd gotten in, he was a drenched mess.

His clothes were clinging to him, and his hair was sticking to his forehead and neck; the towheaded hood looked like an angry wet cat.

Dally knew that this _was not_ going to be his kind of day, not that going to school would ever be on his list of good days.

To make matters worse, Dallas would have to stop at his father's place after the school day to get some of his other clothes. He was sick and tired of wearing the same two outfits, sometimes not even cleaned, and he missed the feeling of something fresh . . . something that didn't look or smell like he'd been in it for a week straight.

The sound of paper tearing jolted him back into reality, and he realized that he had ripped his work in half.

With a scowl, he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the can beside himself just as the class ended. He couldn't get out of there fast enough, tiny droplets of water trailing behind him.

With a sigh, Mrs. Girdlé reached inside to retrieve the very same sheet Dallas had tossed in. A frown crossed her lips as she stared down at the drawing of a jean jacket, or what was supposed to be a jean jacket anyway.

Dallas's skills hadn't rested in art itself, but rather, through expression.

She knew from the moment he stepped foot into her classroom one week ago, she was going to have a hard time _not_ liking him. There was something so complex about the boy that intrigued her.

With a soft grin, she folded the paper out, ignoring the tear as she did, and placed it inside of a folder on her desk. Perhaps, one day, she would be able to understand the young, though notorious, troublemaker that had become one of her students.

* * *

Dallas shoved the doors of the guidance office open, approaching the counter with a scowl on his face. He was glad to be out of science class, that was for certain, but he wondered what in the hell he would be needed for in guidance.

He was surprised Mr. Davis hadn't called him in to do his routinely check-up, or rather, start shit with him about the fucking tutoring and other non-important bullshit.

The secretary glanced up at him. "Name?"

"Dallas Winston."

He didn't miss the grimace as she nodded. "Mrs. Philips wanted to see you." She directed him down the hall. "Third door on the right."

The blond followed her directions, stopping in front of the small office where a middle aged woman with dark hair sat, reading through a file of her own.

"You wanted to see me?" Dallas questioned in a hard voice, sizing her up.

Mrs. Philips nodded, smiling at him. "Mr. Winston, yes I did. Come on in and close the door."

He didn't like where this was headed. Usually, if a counselor wanted to chat with you privately, it could only mean that they were going to attempt to get personal with you. Dally was used to these situations from the jail counselors that thought they could make him a "better person."

All it took was a little decency, good behavior, and then he'd be on his way . . . until he was back in the cooler again, and then the cycle restarted.

Well, too bad, he thought. The only thing he was going to get personal with was his fucking hatred for being in this shithole. He could handle jail any day of the week, hell, it was practically a second home to him, but he didn't want to spend five years straight behind bars.

At least with school came _some_ form of freedom.

Dallas took a seat after closing the door, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for Mrs. Philips to get on with whatever garbage she was going to feed him.

"How are your classes?" she asked, folding her hands on top of her desk.

"Fine."

"And you are . . . adjusting well?"

"Fine."

Mrs. Philips sighed, knowing she wasn't going to get anywhere with the boy; she had skimmed his file earlier, so she wasn't too surprised with his vague answers. Nevertheless, she continued on, wanting to get through this session as fast as Dallas wanted to beat it out of there.

"It has been brought to my attention that Ella Mitchell is tutoring you," she stated, briefly glancing at the teen. "I also know that, since she and you were partnered up, you have not made improvement in any of your classes."

Dallas ground his teeth. "I only just started at this school one week ago."

She nodded. "I understand, Mr. Winston. You do realize that you must pass each of your classes in order to graduate, and with you already being so far behind in the marking period—"

"I get it," he said, cutting her off. "Ol' Davis and me already had quite the discussion."

Mrs. Philips cleared her throat. "I've tried contacting your parents to discuss your current situation here, but I was unable to reach them," she divulged in a firm voice.

At this information, Dallas perked up, his scowl deepening. He was already in an ornery mood, and this bitch just worsened it for him.

"My old lady ain't around no more," he replied, using an icy tone as he stared at her. "And as far as the old man goes, he doesn't give a rat's ass about no school shit, so you can quit while you're ahead. You got somethin' you want to discuss about me, you come and see me. We clear?"

Mrs. Philips's eyes broadened. "You are still under—"

"Yeah, yeah, _hunny_ , and I've done more shit than most people do in a lifetime," he bit out. "Look, I'll be eighteen in a few weeks, so it don't matter none anyway. Savvy?"

The two continued to stare at one another, a tension surrounding Dallas as he glared. He wasn't in the mood to deal with counselors, and he _certainly_ didn't want to hear about how his parents weren't involved with him academically, or whatever-the-fuck-else.

His parents were never involved in anything he did, they never _cared_ about what he did, and that was just peachy with him. He didn't care, either.

"We done here?" he eventually asked, making to stand up and head out.

Mrs. Philips only sighed. "I suppose so, Mr. Winston. Go on back to class. Just please attempt to make an effort in your schoolwork."

Dallas didn't say anything as he exited the office.

He would find Dopey Ella later.

* * *

"Anyone seen Ponyboy?" Two-Bit asked, looking around for the youngest member of their group.

Steve took a bite out of his candy bar. "Nope, ain't seen him all day."

Two-Bit hummed in response. "You think he's okay? He's been acting weird . . . well, weirder than usual anyhow."

The dark-haired greaser rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he'll be—"

Dallas's voice intervened as he jerked his chin forward. "Here he comes."

Sure enough, Ponyboy was walking over toward Steve's car, his eyes cast to the ground as he climbed behind the passenger seat and next to Dally.

"Where were ya, kid?" Two-Bit inquired, sounding only mildly concerned. "We were about to send the FBI to hunt you down."

Despite the other three chuckling, Ponyboy only frowned. "Oh, lay off, Two-Bit."

"Don't get mouthy, kid," Steve said, looking at him through the rear-view mirror. He turned to Two-Bit next, changing the topic. "You back with Kathy? Evie said she saw you two together when she was workin' the other night . . ."

Ponyboy blocked them out, pressing a hand to his forehead as he rubbed the space just above his eyebrows. Beside him, Dallas was studying his face, noticing the relatively new shiner along his jawline.

"Who hit you, kid?"

Pony's face scrunched up, nostrils flaring a bit. "I got into a fight, that's all."

At this, the other two greasers stopped their conversation, now interested in hearing about Ponyboy's fight.

"Say, now, why didn't you tell us?" Two-Bit asked, turning around so he could check out the younger boy's trophy bruise. "Who was it?"

Ponyboy shrugged. "Nothin' to tell."

Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. "Sure don't seem like it. That's a mighty tuff bruise you got forming, Ponyboy. What happened?"

At this, Pony's mood soured, and he found himself more aggravated than anything. "I told you it ain't nothing and that's that." He pushed the door open, jumping out into the rain. "And if any of y'all had half a brain, you'd leave it alone."

The three friends watched the younger teen storm off back into the school, wondering what the heck had made him snap like that. Normally, Ponyboy didn't get sassy or mouthy unless something was awfully bugging him.

"Wonder what crapped in his sheets today," Steve said, shaking his head.

Two-Bit took a swig of his drink. "Must be all that work he's doing; it's goin' to his head."

* * *

Ella grabbed the last book from her locker and stuffed it inside of her bag. A hand swooped down in front of her face and slammed her locker shut.

With a small jump, she looked up into the eyes of Dallas Winston, a stunned expression covering her face. He was standing beside her, one hand still resting on her locker door, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he nodded to her.

"Guess I found you today, sweets," he greeted, moving to lean back against the lockers as he stared down at her. "What are you doin' this afternoon?"

Ella pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder, giving the greaser a once over. She was surprised that he had even _bothered_ to speak to her, let alone, acknowledge her without some form of mockery.

Nevertheless, she responded in a flat tone. "I've got work."

Dallas frowned. "Well, that's too bad."

The brown-haired girl glanced up at him, raising a curious brow. "Not really, it's income. What do you want anyway?"

He half grinned. "Thought you was supposed to be my _personal_ tutor, sweets. What do ya say we . . . get outta here and go somewhere private so you can . . . help me out."

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm as she began walking out of the school. "Please, like you would ever actually be willing to _learn_ something that is taught in school."

"I might be," he disagreed, walking beside her. "Or I could always tell Mr. Dic- Davis that you are refusing to help me improve my academic skills."

Ella stopped short, turning to face him with a fixed glare. "I can't help you. I have work this afternoon, so it'll have to be another day this week."

Dally shook his head. "See, now that ain't gonna work, _sweets_. I got my own plans, so we can either work this out, or you can explain to Davis the reason behind my _non-improving skills_."

Her lips parted slightly as she stared at him in bewilderment. She was more perplexed with the fact that Dallas Winston had actually sought her out on his own regarding the tutoring in the first place. She was positive that he _didn't want_ to make an effort at all, so what had changed his mind?

"What about my job?" she eventually asked.

The hoodlum was impassive. "Don't go. Call out. Simple."

With another angry glare, she slowly nodded. "Fine."

Dallas lead the way out of the building, pausing to light his cigarette, and Ella followed out behind him, wondering if she had made the right choice.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Ella asked impatiently, a hint of concern laced in her voice.

The blond hood merely smirked. "Gotta make a stop first."

Ella rolled her eyes. She wasn't enjoying Winston's childish behavior. First, he had blackmailed her into taking off work _just_ to tutor him, and then he wouldn't tell her where they were headed. She still hadn't called the store to tell them that she wouldn't be coming in that afternoon, and she was getting worried.

After a few minutes, Dallas pulled up in front of a house. It was small, shabby looking, and old. The lawn was littered with empty beer bottles, garbage, and other assorted items that made Ella cringe.

She glanced at the greaser beside herself with a raised brow. "Where are we?"

"Home sweet home, sweets," he answered, stepping out of the car. "Told you I had to make a stop. Stay here."

She watched him walk up the caving-in porch before he disappeared inside. A minute or so later, the sound of yelling, mixed with various strings of curses, could be heard, and the brown-haired girl wondered what was going on.

She couldn't believe that _this_ was Dallas Winston's home, that he'd actually _lived_ there. She thought of the way he'd said "home sweet home," as if it was meant to be sarcastic. Glory, she wouldn't blame him at all if it had been.

Dallas came barreling out of the house, a beaten up duffel bag over his shoulder, as an older man staggered out onto the porch cussing black and blue, his finger pointed at Dallas as the teen tossed his bag into the back of the car, some clothes spilling onto the seat.

". . . and you think all this is gonna change, huh?" the man continued on. "Bullshit. You ain't nothin', boy, ya hear me? Nothin'!" He threw an empty bottle in his direction. "Now git on outta here, you useless—"

That was all Ella was able to hear as Dallas made an obscene gesture toward the older man and peeled out down the road. She could see the angered expression on his face, and she didn't bother to say anything regarding the incident.

Dallas continued to drive for a while, not even sparing a glance at the girl in the passenger seat. His knuckles were white from his grip against the steering wheel, and Ella recoiled a bit, nearly pressing her body against the door.

The knowledge of that man back there being Dallas's father unnerved her; she couldn't fathom how a man could be so cruel to his son. She'd never really known her own father, so she didn't have anything to compare, but she was sure that wasn't how one should act.

"You hungry, kid?" Dallas suddenly asked, not giving her a chance to answer as he pulled into The Dingo's parking lot.

"The Dingo?" she asked, brows knitting together.

The blond shrugged. "Yeah. Look, I ain't ate nothin' all day and I'm about starved, so you can get something or not, I don't really care." He shot her a look as he climbed out of the vehicle. "Ya comin'?"

He hadn't waited for her as he made his way inside, and she practically jogged to catch up to him, an annoyed look on her face.

At least she could use the phone.

* * *

Soda bounded up the steps and into the house, kicking his shoes off as he headed toward the kitchen, mail in his hands. With an eager expression, he shuffled through the envelopes before he came to the very last one, his face turning bleak.

He placed the others on the table, his fingertips brushing against the return label, his familiar writing scribbled across the front in barely legible print.

It had been his final letter to Sandy, his final goodbye. He had told her he loved her, but he understood her decision if she no longer wanted him to be a part of her life. It would take him quite some time to move on, but he respected her wishes enough to stay away.

He just hadn't realized the extent of it.

She hadn't even bothered to read his letter, or any of them for that matter. His heart seemed to drop into his stomach as he thought about her. He was sure that he loved her, hell, he'd wanted to marry her, but she obviously didn't feel the same.

She told him that the child wasn't his, that she had been disloyal, and something inside of him didn't want to believe it. Not Sandy, not _his_ Sandy.

His lips curled in complete devastation as he threw the envelope across the kitchen, before he sat down at the table and buried his face in his hands.

So this is what it felt like, he guessed, to be utterly heartbroken.

The front door opened, but Soda didn't move from his place in the kitchen, only rubbed his hands over his face. Darry appeared in the entryway a moment later, a tired look shadowing his features, but when he noticed his younger sibling's expression, worry settled in his pale blue eyes.

"What's wrong?" he immediately asked, draping his arms over the chair across from Soda.

Soda was glad that it was Darry who had walked in instead of Ponyboy; that kid didn't need to see him like this, not with everything he'd endured already. No, he didn't need any of Soda's problems, especially those where his love life was concerned, added to the mess.

The golden-haired boy only shrugged. "She didn't even read it, Darry. I tried, man, I really did." His eyes were becoming glassy, but he didn't cry. "Even said goodbye to her in it, and she didn't even open the damn thing!"

Darry's shoulders dropped as he listened to his kid brother. He knew about the situation, but he'd never seen Sodapop so torn up over something, except the night their parents had passed away.

"I'm sorry, Pepsi-Cola," he said with sympathy, using their father's old pet-name for him. "I wish there was something I could—"

"There isn't," the teen said, shaking his head. "It's over. Guess I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up."

Darry sighed. "Why don't you go rest up some. Pony should be on his way home. I'll get dinner started in the meantime, and then the three of us can . . . do something."

Soda's eyes raised a little to meet his brother's. "Like what?"

The older boy thought for a minute, before a smile brushed his lips. "Say, we haven't been to the Tasty Freeze in a while . . ."

Soda managed a small grin of his own, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Sounds awful nice, huh?"

* * *

Ella turned another page of her book, watching out of the corner of her eye as Dallas attempted to learn the basics of geometry. The glower on his face seemed almost permanent, as it had been there since she'd passed him the book a half hour ago.

They'd ended up driving to the park, but decided to stay in the car, and Ella figured that the hood wouldn't be caught dead getting tutored. She hadn't said anything to him, though, deciding to just go along with whatever he decided to do.

Instead of finishing up the chapter from her English book, Ella had wanted to try something different, so she inquired about what lesson he was on in his math class.

She was answered with a shrug and "Something about cute shapes, but the only shapes I'm interested in are girl's shapes," before she'd rolled her eyes, finding what she thought would be a good place for him to start.

While he worked beside her, she started in on her own homework, attempting to ignore the sporadic sighs of exasperation coming from her left.

"What the fu—" He thrust the book in her direction. "What one is this?"

Ella leaned over to see what he was pointing at. "A right angle."

Dally groaned. "This is ridiculous. The only right angle here is gonna be the one I use to throw this damn thing out the window."

Reaching for the notebook she'd let him borrow, she took her pen and began drawing out the different angles and their meanings at the top of the page, before handing it back to him.

"That should make it easier," she said, watching as he looked over her work. "That way, when you do the problems, you have the information right in front of you."

"Who in their _right_ mind remembers this shit anyway?" he asked after a minute. "What's the point?"

The brown-haired girl found herself chuckling lightly at the puns the greaser had just used, seemingly oblivious that he'd even done it.

He shot her a dark look. "What are you laughing at, huh?"

She shook her head in amusement. "Nothin'."

The blond continued to eye her for another few seconds before turning his attention back to his work, the car becoming silent once again.

Ella smirked, thinking that maybe, _just maybe,_ Dallas Winston would be able to get through the school year with passing grades and earn his diploma. She was still debating that concept in her mind, but the fact that the notorious hood himself was there beside her, actually making an effort, was surprising.

Maybe there was _some_ hope for him.

"What the hell is equal— e-quil-at-eral?"

 _Take a good look at me now_

 _Can't you see I've changed_

* * *

 **And there's chapter five. Thank you for the comments and reviews! They're very much appreciated. :3**


	6. Every Purpose

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton own The Outsiders. The Byrds own "Turn! Turn! Turn!"**

* * *

 _To everything (turn, turn, turn)_

 _There is a season (turn, turn, turn)_

 _And a time to every purpose, under heaven_

 **November 4 – 5, 1965**

The sound of the ball whacking the other into the pocket caused a grin to form on Dallas's lips as he walked around the pool table to finish his turn. He bent over the side, aligning his cue, before he shot the final ball into the pocket.

He stood up straight, turning to face his partner. "Pay up."

The Mexican cowboy shook his head, a scowl on his face as reached into his wallet and slammed a twenty onto the table. "You's just lucky, kid."

Dally merely pocketed the money, looking down at the shorter man. "Lucky, huh? How 'bout I beat you in another round and we can see who's just better?"

"Why you—"

"Evenin', fellas," a voice greeted, low but calculating. Dally looked in the direction from where the voice had come to see Tim Shepard leaning against the wall, aimlessly twirling a knife in his hand. He nodded once to Dallas. "Dallas."

Dally returned the nod. "Shepard."

Tim flicked the blade closed, pushing himself off of the wall, his eyes never leaving Dallas's. "You gotta minute to talk?"

The towheaded teen glanced at his Mexican partner, who had backed up a bit, before he handed his cue off to another willing participant. He followed Tim out to the bar, hopping onto a stool and ordering two beers for himself and the dark-haired hood.

"What do ya want?" Dally asked, popping the lid off his beverage, before downing nearly half the bottle, the liquid cooling his throat.

He hadn't seen Tim Shepard since the night of the rumble. The two had briefly spoken when Dally was in the hospital, although the former had only come to rub it in that Dallas wouldn't be able to be in the rumble.

It must have been quite the shock when he'd shown up, running toward the group like a bat outta hell, his yelling starting all the commotion.

But that had been nearly two months ago now.

Tim shrugged. "Ain't seen you around. Is it true, you goin' to school now?"

The blond sneered. "What's it to ya, man?"

"Nothin'," he replied, though Dally didn't miss the cockiness in his tone. "Just never thought you would be the school goin' type is all." He smirked, looking Dallas over. "Becoming a decent member of society while you're at it?"

"Fuck off, Shepard," Dallas snapped. "I ain't there 'cause I wanna be."

Tim raised an eyebrow as he took a swig of his beer. "Yeah? That ain't what I heard." He gestured to him. "I heard you was given a choice."

The younger teen snorted. "Some fuckin' choice. I either take the year at the school, or sit with my head up my ass for five years behind bars. At least I got ears out here. Ain't so easy to keep up with shit when you're on the inside."

"Mm," Tim hummed, not at all concerned. "So, with this _school shit_ you've got goin' on, should I know not to count on you when—"

"Fuck you," Dallas said again, eyes narrowing. "You know I ain't one to back outta nothin'."

The other teen grinned lethally. "Sure. See, what I also heard is that you can't get in no trouble, and that you've become somewhat of a . . . wuss."

The blond's fist made contact with Tim's face before he'd even thought about doing it. His blue eyes were blazing down at him on the floor, but the other hood was quick, too. He jumped up, grabbing Dallas by the shirt before shoving him backward and pouncing.

That was all it took before Buck got involved, stepping between the pair. "I ain't havin' none of this crap from y'all tonight. Y'all gotta beef with each other, take it outside. I don't need no cops showin' up here 'cause of you two clowns. Now git out if yer gonna cause shit."

Buck had been very strict since the incident two months ago.

Ever since the cops had come looking for Dally at his place because of Ponyboy and Johnny coming to him the night of the murder, Buck had been under scrutiny for underage drinking, gambling, bootlegging, and other junk that he didn't want to deal with. He'd put his foot down after that.

Because he was aware of Dallas's situation, he'd agreed to let the teen have a room, however, it wasn't without payment.

Since the beginning of the month, which had only been three days ago, Buck had told Dallas that if he wanted to continue staying for free, along with having use of the T-Bird, he would have to work a few nights a week at the bar.

Dallas had been floored, but he'd eventually agreed. It wasn't too bad, he'd thought; at least he made some money through tips, so it was _something_.

Still, he didn't fully enjoy the work.

With a glare, Tim shook his head at Dally. "Whatever, man." And then his eyes raised to the clock, a smile touching his lips. "Shouldn't you be in bed about now? Ain't there school tomorrow?"

Buck didn't have time to react before the two went barreling out the door and down the porch, the sound of grunts and swears echoing around them.

The cowboy rolled his eyes and reached for a beer.

* * *

"Ponyboy, could you stay behind for a minute?" Mr. Syme asked, directing him over to his desk Friday morning.

The teen glanced at the clock. He didn't want to seem rude or apprehensive, but he wanted to make it to his next class—math—with time to spare so he had a few minutes to study his notes for the quiz.

Mr. Syme continued. "I read your theme and I'm very impressed with it. In fact, Ponyboy, have you ever considered taking any writing courses, perhaps looking into publishing companies?"

Pony rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Gee, Mr. Syme, I don't know. I've never really thought about it."

The older man smiled. "I think you write exceptionally well and feel that this would be something worth looking into, perhaps it could even be beneficial for you. Have your brothers read your theme?"

Pony's ears turned red. "No, not yet. They don't even know I wrote it."

"It might be a good idea to let them, Ponyboy," he replied in a sincere voice. "And I really think you should consider looking into publishing companies. Your story is one that needs to be told, that should be heard. It has real potential, a true purpose."

The younger boy nodded, eyes raising once more to the clock. "I'll think about it. Thank you, Mr. Syme."

"Of course, Ponyboy," he said, regarding him with another grin. "By the way, I've decided to pass you with an A."

His stomach practically flipped at those words. Boy, oh, boy, he thought. Just wait until Sodapop and Darry heard about this. He wondered what they would say, that he'd passed English for the marking period and his teacher was encouraging him to publish his theme.

Glory, that had to be the best news he'd heard in a while.

With a smile of his own, the teen walked out of the classroom and down the hall. Perhaps things were finally starting to look up for him; there was a time for everything, he supposed.

Now if he could just pass his math quiz . . .

* * *

Ella browsed through the library during her lunch period, looking for something that sparked her interest. Usually, she would start in on any homework she received from her morning classes so she didn't have to lug around any extra books, but today, she was homework free.

She never ate lunch in the cafeteria, and she didn't talk to enough people to sit with, so she spent her time by herself, which didn't bother her in the least. In fact, Ella enjoyed being by her lonesome; it allowed her to work independently without any interruptions.

"Find anything worthwhile?" a voice asked, causing the girl to jump back. Talk about interruptions . . .

"Craig," Ella greeted, cheeks flushing. "I didn't— You startled me."

The boy merely smiled, leaning an arm against the shelf beside himself, a spark in his brown eyes. He looked down at Ella, enjoying the reaction he'd caused.

"Clearly," he mused, eyeing the book in her hand. "Tolkien, huh? You dig fantasy?"

Ella raised an eyebrow. "Well, I've read _The Lord of the Rings_ , so I figured I would delve into some of his other work." She gestured to _Tree and Leaf_ in her hand. "I heard the library was supposed to be getting the new book after this in here soon."

Craig nodded, furrowing his brows a little. He'd never really talked to Ella Mitchell before, but they were acquainted through grade and the sharing of biology class. Craig had only been in Tulsa two years, but he was quite popular; he was an awfully nice boy, friendly and decent.

His parents had money, and the teen's attire and well-mannered demeanor expressed that. He didn't gloat, though, but he did buddy around with the upper-class group of their peers more than the others. Still, he was always cordial to Ella whenever they spoke.

"Do you mostly spend lunch in the library?" he asked curiously.

Ella shrugged. "I prefer the quiet."

"Oh," he replied, before grinning. "Say, are you doing anything tonight, maybe you'd wanna catch a movie or something . . ."

The girl's eyes broadened in shock. Was Craig Bryant asking her on a date? Sure, she thought he was cute with his chestnut hair and caramel colored eyes, but she'd never thought . . .

She sighed in defeat, thinking about the tutoring session she had planned with Dallas that afternoon, which was followed by work; it would be too late after that to go on a date, since she closed that night.

"Unfortunately, I have pla—"

"What about tomorrow?"

She bit her lip, surprised at his rapid response. "Tomorrow is fine."

Craig grinned again. "Cool deal. I'll pick you up at seven?"

She nodded, giving him the directions to her house, her heart fluttering against her chest. She couldn't believe it . . . She was going on a date with Craig Bryant.

She didn't know whether to be excited, nervous, or both.

* * *

Dallas sat in Buck's T-Bird waiting for Ponyboy to meet him so they could head over to the DX to visit Sodapop for lunch. Since Steve was spending his lunch period with Evie, and Two-Bit hadn't bothered to show up to school, it would only be him and Pony.

Dallas sighed, eyes searching the lot for the kid. For some reason, Ponyboy always showed up late to lunch, looking like he was in a sour mood. Dally wasn't the only one who had noticed the odd behavior, either. Two-Bit and Steve had, too.

There was something else that was becoming more distinguished about Ponyboy, too, that was not only beginning to irritate Dallas, but was starting to concern him. It was the kid's bitter disposition which was taking a turn for the worse.

It was obvious that he was getting into fights now. Two-Bit and Steve had followed him around between classes, and Dally had even stayed after for his track meets a few times, but nobody seemed to be hassling the kid then, and they were left wondering who was giving him a rough time.

A thought crossed Dallas's mind—one he wasn't thrilled about, but wondered if it could be true. Was Ponyboy actually the one initiating fights? It wouldn't be too surprising, especially with the way he'd been acting lately. Perhaps it was just a way for him to blow off steam, like each of the guys had done numerous times.

Still, that wasn't like Ponyboy.

The passenger door opened, the kid sliding in beside him, before he slammed the door shut with a blank look on his face.

Dally glanced at him, but didn't comment on the red mark that was beginning to swell under his right eye; it was apparent he'd been in another fight.

He wondered why there had been no repercussions if he was fighting so often inside the building, but he thought about his classes, remembering that he had gym right before lunch.

The towheaded greaser was becoming agitated. "What's goin' on with you?"

Ponyboy's eyes raised as he looked at him from the side. "What do you mean?"

"Cut the act, kid," the older teen bit out. "This ain't a game. What's goin' on in gym?"

At the mention of his gym class, the younger boy's face fell, but it was only for a brief second, a second that Dallas didn't miss. His assumption had been correct, he noted, gritting his teeth.

"Nothin'," was the bland answer, or lie, the kid turning back to stare out the front window.

With a jerk of his hand, the older teen swerved the car into the next lane, ignoring the honking and yelling from behind him, as he pulled off onto the side of the road and cut the engine.

He turned in the seat to face the younger boy, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed. "Don't fuckin' lie to me, kid."

"I ain't!" he practically yelled, ears turning red. "There ain't nothing going on, Dal, so leave it alone."

Dallas snorted. "Yeah, right. Bullshit, man." He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He was glad, though. At least he wouldn't hit the kid in retaliation.

Ponyboy remained silent, ignoring the hard stare beside himself. Dallas was burning a hole straight into his skull, but he was determined to handle his problems on his own. He was sick and tired of having his brothers and friends come to his aid when he could handle himself just fine.

Heck, he was fourteen! It wasn't like he was a little kid.

"There ain't nothing going on," he repeated. "Why can't y'all leave it alone?"

Dallas raised an ashy blond eyebrow. "Who else has been sayin' shit?"

The younger teen sighed. "All of you. Steve, Two-Bit . . . my brothers thinking it. Glory, Dallas, I can take care of myself just fine without y'all breathing down my neck."

"Your brothers are lookin' out for you, kid."

That was when Ponyboy snapped, eyes hardening. "Yeah, well I don't need any lookin' out for. I ain't no little kid that needs protection, so just back off."

Before the blond could react, Ponyboy was already out the door, sprinting away from the car. Dally cursed everything under the sun, eyes blazing with anger as he watched the younger greaser disappear in the distance.

 _Fuckin' Ponyboy!_ He cursed himself for letting him get away; last time that happened, he'd ended up running into a burning church with Johnny to save some bratty kids.

Figuring that the kid would probably head to the DX, or back to the school, Dallas drove away, cutting back onto the road and flipping off another driver that swore at him.

* * *

"What does E.L.M. stand for?" Dallas asked in vague curiosity, staring at the letters written on Ella's purple notebook.

The girl glanced up from her notes to look at him. "It's my initials."

Dally raised an eyebrow. "What's the L stand for?"

"Louise."

He snorted, but sounded it out. "Ella Louise Mitchell. Sounds like a secretary's name or somethin'."

Ella jerked her head to the side to glare at him. "I happen to _like_ my name. Can't say the same for yours, though."

"That's 'cause it ain't yer name."

In the past two and a half weeks, the pair had started to get along. They weren't friends—far from—but they had a mutual understanding that they respected between themselves. For the most part, they were civil to one another, but they constantly bickered and irritated each other until Dallas would decide that he was finished for the day.

They would usually sit in the car after school for an hour or so on the days that Ella didn't have work, and after getting food, Ella would help Dallas with his assignments. She realized that the hood was actually pretty smart, and not just street savvy. He could do the work, he _understood_ it. He was just a bit behind with certain material.

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, what's _your_ middle name?"

The blond merely smirked. "Guess."

"Andrew, John, Glenn, Bruce, Thomas, Vincent, Jacob, William . . ." Ella trailed off, finally throwing her hands up in the air after a while. "I give up!"

Dallas offered her a look of pure entertainment. "Maybe I don't have one."

With that, Ella's jaw dropped slightly. "That was . . . rude."

Despite their sporadic comical moments, Ella still didn't trust him. The more time she spent with him, though, the more she relaxed, but that still didn't stop the previous thoughts of what happened almost two months ago. She knew of his background, and she wasn't fooled by any charm he possessed.

Dally took a sip of the drink he'd gotten at the burger joint down the road. "So, what's a broad—"

" _Girl,_ " she corrected, shooting him a look. "Stop referring to me as a _broad_."

The hood rolled his eyes. "Yeah, so, what's a . . . _person_ of your kind do on the weekends? Play with dolls or somethin'?"

The brown-haired girl snapped her book closed, brows crinkling together in annoyance. "For your information, _Winston_ , I have a date tomorrow night."

She looked so proud that the blond almost laughed. It was a rise taking jabs at her because she got worked up so easily; Dallas enjoyed every second of it.

"Yeah?" he mocked, stretching in the seat. "Who's the lucky gal?"

Ella ground her teeth, face turning a shade at the greaser's insinuation. "That's it. Take me home!"

"Sure thing, _sweets_. I'm done with this shit anyway."

Glory hallelujah, Dallas might have been able to change and improve academically, but Ella was sure there was nothing that could do either for his personality.

* * *

Ponyboy and Darry cleaned up the dishes that night after dinner, listening to Sodapop and Steve argue about who was cheating at their seemingly never-ending card game.

"How was school?" Darry inquired, glancing down at his youngest brother as he carried the dishes over to the sink.

Pony shrugged. "Alright, I guess."

He remembered his theme that he'd written for English then, wondering if he should let Darry look it over that evening. Steve and Soda were going to the drags, and Two-Bit had a date with Kathy, his on and off girlfriend, so it would only be him and Darry home that night.

The younger boy had been thinking about Mr. Syme's words all day, until Dallas had started in on him during their lunch period. He wanted to tell Soda about it, but after his argument with Dallas, he'd decided not to go to the DX, and simply headed back to the school in time for his next class.

Well, he knew Dally's words weren't what set him off, but the hood had been right. Ponyboy didn't want anyone's help, though. He could take care of himself; he didn't need anyone looking out for him.

 _. . . you get tough like me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothin' can touch you._

The words replayed in his mind; he was taking that advice to heart.

". . . and that girl that's tutoring Dallas has got some date with Craig Bryant," Steve laughed. "Can you _believe_ that? Evie was sayin' somethin' about Craig . . ."

All previous thoughts came to a sudden halt. Ella Mitchell was going on a date with Craig Bryant? The words out of Steve's mouth caused the youngest greaser to freeze. Something wasn't right, he was sure of that. He didn't really know Ella all that well, _if at all,_ but why would—

Did the two know each other?

"You feelin' okay, little brother?" Darry suddenly asked, looking at Ponyboy with a curious expression on his face. "You're looking a bit pale."

Pony shook his head, playing it cool. "I'm fine, just a little tired."

The older boy nodded, not pressing the matter. "Maybe you ought to lay down for a while . . ."

As Ponyboy made his way back to his shared room, he wondered about Craig Bryant and Dallas's tutor, Ella Mitchell. The only person who would have any inclination about the girl would be Dallas, and Pony wasn't itching to talk to him any time soon.

Still, the thought of Craig and Ella wasn't sitting right with him. He had a bad feeling about something he wasn't even sure about. What was it? Premonition?

He thought about seeing Craig in gym class, and talking briefly to Ella that day a few weeks ago in the library. Maybe he was just looking too far into it—it might have only been a coincidence that Craig would ask her out.

With a sigh, Pony rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling as he closed his eyes in an attempt to rid himself of his oncoming headache, all thoughts of his English theme forgotten.

 _A time for love, a time for hate_

 _A time for peace, I swear it's not too late_

* * *

 **Thank you for the lovely reviews! They're always appreciated. I love hearing from you guys. :3**

 **I went back and added in the actual dates for each chapter, if you want to check them out!**

 **—Cat**


	7. Something Going Wrong

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Joe Jackson owns "Is She Really Going Out With Him?"**

* * *

 _Is she really going out with him?_

 _Is she really gonna take him home tonight?_

 **November 6, 1965**

Ella sighed, leaning her elbow on the counter as she rested her chin in her hand. Saturday mornings at the store were usually heavy, but this particular one seemed quite slow. Perhaps it was because the teen couldn't stop thinking about her date that night with Craig Bryant, the feeling of butterflies in her belly reminding her constantly.

She felt like she'd been there since yesterday afternoon, having closed at nine o'clock and then opening with Jan this morning at seven—she was wiped.

Jan was in a chipper mood, though, which was keeping the younger girl awake. Normally, Jan was in a better mood on Saturdays because she only worked until noon, which meant she could go home and spend the rest of the weekend with her kids.

"Is it me, or does it seem awfully slow today?" Jan asked, speaking Ella's thoughts aloud.

Ella nodded lethargically, humming in affirmation.

The older woman gave her a look. "You'd better not fall asleep on me." She pointed a finger at her for good measure, even though her voice was teasing. "If it gets crazy, I'm most certainly not running this place by myself."

Ella smirked. "I wouldn't let you, Jan."

She smiled in response, beginning to tidy up the counter a bit. "You look anxious, hunny. Are you feeling alright?"

The girl blinked in surprise. She _was_ feeling anxious, but she wasn't aware that she'd been actually expressing it. Was it that obvious?

"I . . . have a date tonight," the teen admitted, a faint blush coating her cheeks. At Jan's soft smile, she continued. "His name is Craig, he's a real nice boy—"

"That one you've been spending an awful amount of time with?" Jan assumed, raising her brows as she leaned against the counter to face her co-worker.

Ella's face heated up immediately as she thought of Dallas. The thought of going on a date with _him_ caused her to shudder; it was repulsive. Glory, how could Jan even think something like that?

She shook her head as she rationalized. It wasn't like Jan had ever met Dallas Winston, but if she had, she wouldn't have _ever_ assumed him to be Ella's date, no sirree bub.

Ella remembered telling Jan about Dallas, or _the boy she'd been helping out in school_ , the other week, since the older woman had seen the towheaded greaser drop her off at work once after a study session.

"No, not him," Ella replied quietly. "He's just someone I've been tutoring, we're hardly friends." She offered Jan a vague smile.

Jan rested a hand on her hip. "Alright, so who is the mystery date? You tell your mamma?"

The girl's smile instantly faded. She hadn't been able to tell her mother because she hadn't seen her, and she wouldn't have the opportunity to tell her about it until the next day; she was working at the antique store until the evening hours, before heading over to bar to serve drinks that night.

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm sure she'll be ecstatic to hear about it," Jan said in a cheerful voice, eyes sparkling. She knew how Ella and Frances operated, and she understood their situation.

Ella had been slightly worried, though. She had never really dated before, so her experience with boys was at a minimal. Sure, she had the general idea, but the actual experience was at zero. She'd heard the girls talk before, going on about their _Friday night delights,_ and shopping, and other things that Ella never really cared to do.

Now that she was going to experience her very first date, she realized that she had no clue what to do, or what to wear, or how to express herself.

On the outside, she appeared slightly nervous. On the inside, she was trembling.

She smiled at Jan, though her eyes remained stoic. "I'm sure she will be, too."

"So . . . tell me about this boy, Craig."

* * *

Dallas made his way downstairs, running a hand through his white-blond hair, as he stiffened a yawn.

He had spent the night getting plastered again, and he was currently reaping the consequences; he needed something to sober himself up, and quick. He had plans that day that required his full training capability.

Buck raised a curious brow at the younger boy. "You better not be hungover, Winston. If you wanna be in the race tonight, yer ass better be in shape to win. I ain't wasting time on a jockey who can't even control himself, let alone a pony."

The blond rolled his eyes. "When have I not come through, huh?"

"That ain't the point."

Dally glared at the cowboy. It was the last night for rodeo season, and Buck had asked him to race, which pleased the greaser more than anything. If there was one thing he enjoyed doing honestly, it was jockeying.

He was good with the ponies, too, had a way with them that Buck couldn't seem to fathom for the life of himself. Whatever it was, though, had been the reason Buck chose him as his partner.

Ol' Winston might have been a hood, but he was one hell of a jockey, and if there was anyone who could guarantee him a hefty earning in an honest race, it was Dallas.

"Whatever you say, Buck," Dally replied, reaching for a beer with a smirk on his lips. "I'll be ready."

The cowboy rolled his eyes. "You screw this up and you're done. Now git'on down to the stables 'fore I change my mind and offer the job to someone else."

The hood snorted. "Right, like anyone you pick is good enough to win honestly." He finished off his drink in a few chugs. "And how many guys called you out for fucking them over with their share of the loot?"

When Buck made no effort to respond, instead only glowering at Dallas, the blond only gave another grim smirk, before he hopped off of the stool and tossed his empty bottle into the can.

"What I thought."

The older boy didn't give a reply to that, either, watching Winston take his leave. Sometimes, that kid could really drive him up a wall, not that he'd ever say that to his face; he'd earned himself a broken jaw for insulting the teenage delinquent once, and that was plenty enough.

Still, Dallas had a way of really pissing him off.

He just hoped that the damn kid would be in decent enough condition that night to race and earn him some dough, or else he was gonna be screwed with his upcoming payments that month.

* * *

". . . but anywho, I don't know if she's mad at me or what," Two-Bit carried on. "Sometimes, I don't get her at all, know what I'm sayin', Ponyboy?"

The younger greaser suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Two-Bit could be smart when he wanted to be, and he had a good way of understanding things, but glory, the guy was practically clueless when it came to girls and their emotions.

Ponyboy wondered what Kathy saw in his rusty-haired friend that would make her constantly keep coming back to him, not that Two-Bit was a bad guy or anything, he just simply didn't understand the definition of _relationship_.

Then again, Ponyboy himself wasn't too experienced in that department, either.

The older teen cocked his head to the side, eyes gazing down at his younger friend. "Man, Pony, you're in an awfully chatty mood today, huh?"

Ponyboy's lips curved slightly at the sarcastic comment. "You talk enough for the both of us and then some."

At that, the comical greaser let out a laugh. "Hey now, someone ought to do it. Gotta make like I'm having _some_ kind of conversation with someone 'sides myself, 'cause you sure as heck don't make up the other half."

That time, he did roll his eyes.

The two continued on their way to the DX, having just come from the movie house. Darry had been trying to get Ponyboy out of the house, going on that he spent too much time inside and not enough time outside doing anything productive.

Even Ponyboy's counter argument about schoolwork wasn't enough to sway his older brother, so in an attempt to ease his mind, the younger Curtis decided to go and see a movie. Two-Bit had offered to go along with him for some company, and Ponyboy was too drab to disagree.

Usually, the younger teen enjoyed going to the movies, especially by himself, but for some reason, the thought of going had become bland. It didn't excite him the way it used to, and he was pretty sure he knew the reason why.

He hadn't gone to the Nightly Double since the night he'd gone with Johnny and Dallas, and he was sure it would be a while before he could stand to look at that place; it made chills surge up and down his spine just thinking about it.

A horn startled the young greaser from his thoughts, and he stopped walking, realizing that Two-Bit was a few feet behind himself, leaning against the passenger side of Buck's T-Bird, which was pulled along the side of the road.

Both Two-Bit and Dallas were staring at him in amusement, causing his ears to turn red. Had he been that far inside his thoughts that he hadn't heard Dally pull up?

"Where's his head at?" the towheaded hood wondered out loud, shaking his head. He turned to face Two-Bit as the kid came sauntering up beside him. "You comin' tonight, then?"

"Coming where?" Pony asked in a quiet voice, brows knitting together.

Two-Bit grinned. "Ol' Dally here is gonna be racing for Buck tonight in the last rodeo of the season."

Ponyboy folded his hands in his pockets. "Maybe it'll get Darry out . . ."

"Fat chance there, kid," the rusty-haired greaser said, resting a hand atop the car. "I guess I'll come out tonight, it ain't like I got anything better to do." He nudged Ponyboy. "I'll bring him and the two musketeers while I'm at it."

Dallas rolled his eyes at the nickname for Soda and Steve. "Sounds good. Guess I'll be seein' y'all tonight then, but right now, I gotta get cleaned up. I just came from the stables . . . spent a few hours mucking up horse shit and ridin' to get the feel back 'fore I go in tonight."

Two-Bit nodded with a grin. "Good deal, buddy. We'll see ya later."

The two greasers watched their friend pull away from the curb, before they continued their walk to the DX to visit their other friends.

* * *

That evening, Ella rummaged through her closet in search of something decent to wear. She assumed that Craig would be taking her to the Nightly Double, and she wanted to dress warmly.

Her heart was pounding rapidly, her stomach in knots as she thought about the good-looking boy who had asked her out the other day. A smile brushed her lips as she imagined herself in a few hours from now, sitting beside him, perhaps one arm draped around her shoulders . . .

The teen stared at the dark, waist-high pair of pants that she'd grabbed, along with a dark sweater to match. It was the only decent outfit appropriate for both the weather and a date, and Ella decided that was what she was going with.

After freshening up and changing clothes, she spent the next portion of her time attempting to fix her mane of hair. She wished that her mother was around to help her with things like this, but unfortunately, she was working that night.

With an unsatisfied expression, Ella pulled the rollers out of her hair and ran a brush through it, before spraying the frays in hope that they would stay secured.

Glory, she hated her hair with a passion! She'd tried cutting it once, but that had only made it worse, and even her mother urged her to keep it long so that the weight would keep the frizzy curls down.

A knock pulled the girl from her thoughts, and she gave herself a final once over, before heading out to answer the door.

Craig stood on the porch, a smile spread across his lips as his eyes met hers. "Hey."

"Hey," she replied, her cheeks tinting. "I just need to grab my jacket."

The boy nodded and waited for a few seconds until his date came back, offering him another grin. He couldn't help but admire the way her pants formed to her legs, having only seen her in skirts or dresses that were always at a decent length.

"You look nice," he complimented once they were in the car.

Another blush. "Thanks."

As Craig drove, Ella found herself relaxing a bit. She found that Craig was actually a very easy person to talk to; he was laid-back and not overbearing, and he didn't make her feel uncomfortable, which she was internally thankful for.

"Do you want to stay in the car, or sit outside?" he asked, pulling into the Nightly Double.

Ella shrugged. "Either is fine. I don't mind."

Craig nodded, deciding to stay in the car. He payed for their tickets, before leaving her briefly to get popcorn and drinks to snack on throughout the movie.

The sound of light laughter caused the brown-haired girl to glance out the window, and she blushed at the sight of a couple beside her making out against the side of their car.

She wondered, then, if Craig would try to kiss her, or put the moves on her, and she bit her lip at the thought of it. She wasn't quite sure if she was ready for that or not, and she found herself hoping that he wouldn't try anything.

The driver's side door opened, and Craig handed her a drink and a small bag of popcorn, before he slid back in, a soft smile on his lips.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and took a sip of her coke. "Do you know what's playing tonight?"

He shook his head. "Not a clue, but I guess that makes it interesting, huh?" He looked at her, raising an eyebrow humorously. "I suppose I like surprises."

The teen chuckled in response. "Surprises are nice."

Laughter sounded from beside them again, and Craig looked around his date to see the couple from earlier returning to their car, their faces practically glued to each other.

"Guess we'll be having company," he remarked, but didn't at all sound concerned. If anything, he just seemed mildly amused. "What's a date without _something_ , huh?"

Ella found herself chuckling. "Exactly."

* * *

Steve and Soda cheered as Dallas approached them, a rare grin plastered on his face. He was confident that he would win the race that night, but it felt even better now that he'd actually done it.

Buck merely gave him a proud look, content with the fact he would be coming into a bit of money to take care of his bills. The damn hoodlum had come through yet again, and Buck couldn't be more happy at that moment . . . or relieved.

Two-Bit shoved a beer bottle in the blond's face. "Drink up, Dal! Celebrate that win!"

Ponyboy stood off to the side next to Soda. He'd been excited to come along at first, but that was until Soda had dragged him all across the country just to admire the horses. He knew his brother was horse crazy, but sometimes the golden-haired teen got a little _too_ crazy.

Evie stood beside Steve, his arm draped causally around her waist. "That was some race."

Dally nodded, taking the beverage from Two-Bit. "Sure was, man, and now I'm gonna celebrate the rest of the night at Buck's. Anyone joining? Two-Bit? Steve, you and your girl comin'?"

Steve shook his head as Two-Bit nodded, the former speaking. "Promised Evie I'd take her to a movie tonight after your race."

Dally only nodded. He didn't bother to ask either Curtis, since he knew Darry would have no problem rearranging any of their faces if Pony even came within a mile of the roadhouse. He wasn't scared of Darrel, but he respected him well enough.

"Me an' Pony are gonna head on back," Soda announced, giving his younger brother a playful punch. "I think Darry spent enough time by himself for one night."

"Want a lift?" Steve offered. "We'll drop you off on our way."

Evie chuckled lightly. "Maybe we'll run into Dallas's tutor and her date while we're there."

At that comment, the towheaded teen raised a brow. "Who, Ella?"

She nodded. "She's got a hot date tonight, you didn't know?" At his confused expression, she continued with a wry grin. "Craig Bryant asked her out."

No kidding, Dallas thought; the dope hadn't been pulling his chain yesterday. He wasn't sure who this Craig kid was, but he'd heard of him. Then again, Dallas had heard of, or at least _knew_ of, most of the people around his age in town.

"Good for her," he replied with disinterest, rubbing the pale stubble around his chin.

He wondered if the girl had ever been on a date before; the way she recoiled around him made him think twice about that. He could picture her sitting with some guy who was attempting to get under her skirt, her face redder than a tomato as she shied away.

The thought was priceless in itself, and now he definitely had something to tease her about come Monday afternoon.

Two-Bit spoke. "She's really going out with Bryant?" He began laughing. "S- Seriously?"

"What's so funny about that?" Ponyboy inquired, glancing at their friend in curiosity.

He knew Craig Bryant; they shared a gym class, and both boys were on the track team. Pony didn't like him, though, because he'd been making comments about Johnny and the incident two months ago. He palled around with some of Bob Sheldon's old friends, too, who hadn't exactly let their friend's murder go just yet.

The rusty-haired greaser could hardly stop laughing. "He looks like a fish!"

Only Sodapop chuckled, both Steve and Dallas staring at their friend with perplexity, while Pony and Evie only held blank expressions. Sometimes, nobody understood Two-Bit's sense of humor . . . except for himself.

Still, Ponyboy couldn't rationalize the thought of Ella and Craig dating. Something just didn't feel right to him about the situation, and he couldn't help but wonder what it was.

* * *

Ella laughed at another comment Craig made regarding the movie they'd just seen as he drove her back to her house. She couldn't believe how much fun she'd had with him, and how relaxed she was; it was the best she had felt in a while.

"I liked it, though," she said, smirking.

"You said you saw it already," he replied, glancing at her. "What's wrong with a little humor?"

Ella rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I _did_ when it first came out, and I liked it then, too."

He hummed. "Come on, _The Pink Panther_ is . . . overrated."

"Reruns are nice, though," she countered playfully. "And besides, you're the one who said you like surprises, and that was one."

Craig laughed as he pulled up in front of her house. "Alright, you have me there."

The two were quiet for a few moments, enjoying each others company and the stillness of the night. If Ella was honest with herself, she almost didn't want to leave just yet, but she knew she had to.

"I had fun tonight," she admitted, turning her head to face him.

He smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she blushed. "I did, thank you."

Craig stared at her with a hopeful expression. "Maybe you'd like to go out again some time? Are you busy after school Monday?"

Ella's countenance immediately fell. "I have a tutoring session and then work."

"Tuesday?"

"Work."

Craig drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in thought. "You're tutoring Dallas Winston, right?" At her look of surprise, he continued. "Some people were talking about it . . ."

"Oh," she replied in a low voice. "Well, it's true. I am."

Her date only shook his head, dismissing the conversation. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to figure something out. I'd really like to see you again."

The girl's heart fluttered. "I'd like that, too."

He offered her another grin, before leaning in and placing a light kiss against her cheek. "I'll see you in school Monday."

Ella nodded, her head seeming to swim. "Yeah . . . Monday."

Making sure she got into her house alright, Craig pulled away, his mind clouded as he stared at the scenery in front of himself. He sighed, turning the radio on and humming along to the song that was playing, a smirk creeping along his lips . . .

He couldn't believe it had been that easy.

 _Is she really going out with him?_

 _'Cause if my eyes don't deceive me_

 _There's something going wrong around here_

* * *

 **Reviews are appreciated. :3**


	8. Life Ain't Fair

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Simple Plan owns "I'm Just a Kid."**

* * *

 _I'm just a kid_

 _And life is a nightmare_

 _I'm just a kid_

 _I know that it's not fair_

 **November 8, 1965**

Two-Bit sat in Mr. Davis's office Monday morning, hands resting behind his head as he leaned back against the chair, ankles crossed in front of himself. It was never a surprise for the goofy greaser to find himself in the principal's office, but this time, he wasn't sure what he'd done.

He immediately assumed it was due to his excessive absences and blew it off, going back to his prior whistling while he waited for the man himself to get there.

If he was any slower, Two-Bit would just take his leave. He had better things to do than get scolded by Mr. Davis at seven thirty in the morning.

"Mr. Mathews," came the authoritative voice. Guess he wasn't waiting too long, then. "Sit up, please."

"Mr. Davis, how was your weekend?" Two-Bit inquired, sliding up in his seat with a grin. "Must have been mighty interesting if you'd like to see my brilliant face this bright and early on a Monday."

The older man merely stared from behind his desk. "This is not a visit for exchanging pleasantries, Keith." At the use of his first name, Two-Bit's smile dissipated. He hated when people called him that. "I wished to see you to discuss your current situation, regarding your grades."

"My grades, huh?" Two-Bit repeated, cracking another grin. "Somethin' the matter with them?"

Ol' Davis wasn't in a cheerful mood apparently. "Keith, you're still in eleventh grade, and you've made absolutely _no_ effort in your schoolwork, classes, or anything else involving your time here at this school." With a sigh, the older man laid it on him. "You are eighteen and half years old, Mr. Mathews. If you do not make any progress and continue to slack off, I will be forced to expel you."

For a moment, Two-Bit paled, his gray eyes losing their laughter. "What?"

He'd never given much thought about his future, but now that Davis had threatened him with expulsion, the teen wondered what he would do with himself. Sure, he had plenty to do, but if he'd ever gotten bored, there was always school to fall back on. Shoot, he couldn't be expelled.

Mr. Davis continued on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the greaser in front of him was hardly digesting a word he had said.

". . . as it is, you are turning nineteen . . . next June," he explained. "Now, if you choose to help yourself, I will agree to let you move forward in your senior year, at which you will graduate just before your twentieth birthday. This is the only option you have, Keith. The rest is up to you. Were I you, I would take this opportunity into consideration, before you completely throw your life away."

Two-Bit couldn't even nod in response as he stood up and exited the office.

* * *

"I can't believe they let a murder accomplice walk around so freely," George Clayton said, jerking his chin toward Ponyboy. "He shouldn't be allowed in this school."

Beside him, Craig snickered, but he didn't look impressed with the snide remarks. Instead, he seemed rather bored, or even somewhere else, like he didn't want to be involved.

Ponyboy ground his teeth. If Clayton and his two buddies, Craig Bryant and Kevin Rogers, wanted to pick another fight with him, then so be it. He was getting awfully sick of their crap, and he was about to take it one step further than his fists to prove his point.

He used to enjoy gym class, especially when Johnny was with him, but now it was just annoying and overwhelming to even attend. At least the track season was at its end, but he was stuck with gym for the next few marking periods, before he switched out for Health.

Fortunately, since George, Craig, and Kevin were seniors, he wouldn't have to deal with them, but until then, there was nothing he could do.

 _You look out for yourself and nothin' can touch you . . ._

"Hey, greaser, how about—"

"Lay off, George," a familiar voice said from behind the younger boy. Ponyboy jerked his head around to see Randy Adderson standing there. "Don't any of you have anything better to do?"

George furrowed his brows. "You're really sticking up for trash like him?"

Randy exhaled hard, crossing his arms over his chest. "Bob was my buddy, too, alright? What's done is done. Just clear out and leave the kid alone."

"Come on, man," Kevin urged, motioning George ahead. "Let's go."

George eyed Ponyboy for a second. "You just better watch your back, pal."

The three walked away, leaving Ponyboy and Randy behind. The latter dropped his arms to his side, turning back to face the younger teen.

"You alright?" he asked, looking the kid over.

Pony nodded. "Yeah, thanks, Randy."

"No problem, kid."

* * *

Ella switched her morning books out with her afternoon ones, suppressing a sigh as she went over what homework she had. A pair of boots entered her view, and she cast her eyes up, meeting the gaze of Dallas, who was staring at her with a raised brow.

"Yes?" she asked, a minor hint of annoyance in her voice. She usually didn't like to see him unless it was for tutoring only, and she wondered what he wanted during their lunch period.

The blond smirked, a suggestive look in his blue orbs. "Interesting sight, huh? You kneeling in front of me . . ."

Ella glared. "You're disgusting."

"So I've been told, sweets," he replied, not even bothered by her comment. "So, where do you go during lunch? I never see you around."

"Maybe because I like being _alone_ ," she responded in a firm voice, hoping he'd get the hint.

If he did, he ignored it entirely. "Alright, so where do you _hide?_ "

The brown-haired girl ground her teeth, picking herself and her belongings off of the floor as she began walking away. She hoped that Dallas would leave, but apparently, he was attempting to get on her nerves purposely, or he was just really dumb when it came to hints.

"Or ignore me, that's cool," he muttered, swaggering along side her.

She huffed. "I bet a lot of people do."

"They _try,_ " he corrected, pulling out a cigarette and placing it behind his ear as they walked.

The pair was quiet, Ella wishing that he would just go away. Dallas could be truly irritating and insufferable, and she wasn't one for tolerance when it came to either of those characteristics. She dealt with him _six hours a week,_ and that was probably enough for _anyone_.

Too much of Dallas was enough to kill someone.

Finally, she'd gotten annoyed with him following her and stopped abruptly, turning her chin up to look at him. "What do you want? Tutoring isn't for another few hours."

Dallas narrowed his eyes a little. "So, I ain't allowed to talk to you any oth—"

"No."

The two stared each other down, or at least, attempted to. Ella was stubborn, but so was Dallas, but to her, he was a prick, and to him, she was a bitch.

"Is there a problem here?" Craig asked, rounding the corner, eyeing Winston and Ella with curiosity. He approached the two of them, standing beside Ella.

Dallas didn't bother to size the other guy up, he already saw a barely noticeable flinch in his brown eyes when he realized who he'd intruded on.

Ella shook her head, face softening. "No, there isn't, Craig."

Dally almost chuckled. So, this was Craig Bryant, then . . . Ella's notorious hot date; Two-Bit had been weirdly right, he noticed. The guy did resemble a fish, if only said fish were brown . . . but it was the eyes, they were large and rounded, making him appear like he was viewing you through a bowl.

Ella was staring at the kid with wide eyes, her cheeks tinted a shade. Dally resisted the urge to roll his own eyes at her expression. She was a typical chick, all googly-eyed for a piece of candy in the form of a male human.

Placing the unlit cigarette between his lips, the towheaded hood winked at his tutor. "See ya later . . . Ella." And with that, he walked toward the doors and headed outside.

Dallas almost couldn't wait until later that afternoon to tease her unmercifully about Craig Bryant and her blatant behavior. He couldn't believe that the dope had gotten a date to begin with, but either way, it was going to be priceless to mock her about it.

Ella's expression shifted in surprise as she watched him walk away. The greaser had actually said her name.

* * *

"Where's Evie today?" Two-Bit asked, leaning back against Steve's car.

It was a nice enough day, not too cold out, so the three greasers were spending their lunch break outside of the vehicle for once. Steve had been talking to a few guys before meeting Two-Bit and Ponyboy out in the lot when the former noticed his girlfriend's absence.

"She caught a bug over the weekend," Steve answered. "She ain't here today."

The rusty-haired teen cracked a grin. "Wonder what bug that would be."

Steve shot him a dark look as Ponyboy rolled his eyes, lighting up a cigarette. "Why don't you worry 'bout what your own girl's got 'fore you go sayin' shit about Evie."

"Which girlfriend we talkin' about?" came the sarcastic response, and Steve resisted the urge to dump his coke over his buddy's head.

At that precise moment, Dally came sauntering up, a slight smirk on his lips as he hopped onto the hood of Steve's car, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Where have ya been?" Pony questioned, though he kept his distance.

The blond gave a light chuckle. "Ran into that Craig kid, you know, the one Dopey is seein'." He shook his head in amusement, glancing at Two-Bit. "You's right, man. He does look like a fuckin' fish."

Steve snorted. "Right."

"I'm serious," Dally responded in a sarcastic tone.

Ponyboy crushed his cigarette beneath his heel as he remembered the incident with Craig, Kevin, and George earlier in gym class. He still couldn't fathom the idea of Craig and Ella, the unsettling feeling returning to his gut.

"Was he with Ella?" he inquired with curiosity, keeping his gaze on the gravel.

"Mhm," Dally hummed in affirmation. "Glory hallelujah, I still can't believe that broad got a date. That guy must need glasses or somethin'."

Ponyboy bit the inside of his cheek. He really didn't know Ella, but from the way they talked that one time, he could tell she wasn't their kind, and he didn't like the way Dallas was talking about her right then. He wanted to tell him to shut his trap, that he wasn't exactly prince charming, but he didn't.

He might have gotten away with his remarks in the cemetery that day last month, but he knew he'd just taken the older hood by surprise; he would get more than a whack upside the head if he got mouthy now, and he didn't want to tempt it.

Dally was still rambling on. ". . . and I suppose they think after this, I'm just gonna blend in with the rest of society or some fucking bullshit like that."

Two-Bit inwardly grimaced. He'd been attempting to put the conversation he'd had with Mr. Davis out of his head all day, but it wasn't working. Even covering up his emotions with wise cracks wasn't seeming to do the job.

As far as he was concerned, the only ones in their makeshift gang that were going anywhere were Ponyboy and Darry, and maybe Steve. They were the smart ones, not people like him and Dally, or Soda; they just weren't cut out for school.

The scary thing was that Dallas was actually going to school, doing his work, and . . . everything. For a moment, Two-Bit actually felt anxious. What would happen to him if he didn't pass, if he _couldn't?_ Hell, he wasn't real book smart to begin with!

The greaser jolted back into reality as Steve called his name, brows raised slightly. "You with us, man? Glory, you're actin' like the kid."

Ponyboy narrowed his eyes at the remark, but didn't say anything.

Two-Bit merely stared, forcing a smile onto his lips. "Acting is a career I ought to look into, huh?" He slung an arm around Pony's shoulders. "What do you have to say to that, kid? Me in Hollywood . . ."

The bell rang as the four made their way back inside of the building, Two-Bit chattering about his new dream of becoming an actor. To anyone, he looked like his usual comical self, a smile on his face, the sound of his laughter loud and obnoxious . . .

But behind his eyes was the fear he'd been harboring since that morning.

Dallas watched him with a careful eye, wondering what his buddy was trying to conceal, and he had plans to find out.

* * *

Ella internally flinched at Dallas's facial expression as he held the literature book she'd given to him a second ago. Golly, it looked like he was about to tear each page inside to shreds with the way he was eyeing it.

With the end of the first marking period only days away, Ella had been attempting to help Dallas crack down on his work to ensure that he would pass. What she didn't know was _how_ he was actually doing in any of his classes. If she asked him, she was sure she wouldn't get a straight answer, so she decided she would take matters into her own hands, and soon.

She would probably attempt to sneak into the guidance office later that week to snoop through his files, see if any of his teachers sent anything regarding him or his grades.

Ella almost felt bad thinking about that, but at the same time, she _wanted_ to. Perhaps it would also give her an idea what the hood needed the most help with, and then she could be discreet in knowing, too.

"Don't tell me I gotta fu— read this," Dallas said from beside her.

She gave him a blank look. "Where are you in English?"

"Last I checked, I was pretty fluent," the blond answered, making to hand the book back to her.

Ella rolled her eyes, pushing his arm away. Winston could be so childish at times that his behavior was insufferable. Glory, he got on her nerves an awful lot sometimes.

"That's not what I meant," she said, trying to contain her patience. "Where did you leave off in class?"

He shrugged. "Beats me."

The brown-haired teen groaned in mild aggravation, grabbing the book from him and flipping through some pages until she reached the section her class was on.

"Try this." The book was thrust back in his arms. "And then you can do the questions at the end."

Dallas glowered. "Who the hell died and left you in charge, huh? This tutoring shit don't mean you gotta be a bitch, you know."

Ella felt her eyes widen a little. Dallas Winston had said a lot of things around her, but he'd never directly slandered her to her face, except that one time in the office, and she didn't appreciate it one bit. He'd often referred to her as a "broad," which was almost as bad as being called a bitch, but still . . .

"Don't call me a bitch."

The hoodlum merely flipped a page in the book. "Don't act like one, sweets."

"And stop calling me that, too!"

The side of Dallas's lips quirked at her sudden anger. This was all too fun to ignore. So what if she was a little upset? He didn't care. In his mind, Ella _was_ a bitch who thought her own shit didn't stink, and she needed to be brought down a level.

Since the day he'd met her in Davis's office, he could feel the judgment radiating off of her. Sure, he was _used_ to it, having lived his entire life being judged and spit on, but he'd be damned if he was going to be "tutored" by a stuck-up broad who thought she was better than him.

No fucking way.

"You gonna yell at Craig when he starts callin' ya names?" he asked in amusement, watching her face darken a shade. "What's it gonna be, then? Hunny, doll, sugar . . . _princess?_ "

Ella's lips curled back. "Shut your trap, and don't talk about Craig, either."

"You gonna make me?"

She went to glare at him, but when she noticed the cool look on his face, her own expression went blank. It was for a split second that Ella saw something flicker in the greaser's eyes, something that she wasn't quite sure how to describe.

She realized then what made Dallas Winston so intimidating. It wasn't his personality or the things he did and said . . . It was the look in his eyes, the emotionless stare that held everything and nothing at once. He was cold, animalistic, and wild, and that was chilling to consider. What would one have to endure to become _that?_

Ella turned away. "Just leave it alone."

Dallas was persistent, though. He'd wanted to mock her about her date with Craig, and he didn't care if he was bothering or upsetting her. It was rise—one he enjoyed all too much.

He hummed, tapping his fingers against the book, before he spoke again. "So, how _was_ the date with Craig? Did he, you know, make a move?" He gave her a wink, intentionally trying to get a reaction.

The girl was biting her lip so hard, she thought it would break the skin. "Can't you just be quiet and do the work?"

The towheaded teen began aimlessly flipping through the pages, and before he could come up with another sly remark, his eyes caught something written on one of the pages in the very middle of the book. Hooking his thumb between the pages, he stopped them from moving while scanning the page, his stomach seeming to knot.

"Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost.

 _Stay Gold, Ponyboy. Stay Gold._

Johnny's voice echoed in his mind as he read over the words carefully, attempting to memorize them as he did. He wasn't sure if Johnny's words to Ponyboy and the poem had some kind of connection, but he had to admit that it was pretty fucking eerie.

Staring at the words for another moment, Dallas wondered, all intentions of mocking Ella gone from his mind.

* * *

Ponyboy finished his final lap around the track, panting as he came to a stop in front of his coach, who was looking at him with a proud expression.

"Good timing, Ponyboy!" he said, giving the teen a faint smile. "You've definitely come a long way since last month."

"Thanks, Coach," he replied, breezing past him to head into the locker room to change.

He had been trying to better his timing since rejoining the team, and he'd improved immensely. He just needed to cut back on smoking. Darry had been on his case about it, but it wasn't really getting through to him. Sometimes, he just didn't think, which would cause his oldest brother to harp on him more.

They'd agreed to stop fighting, and things had been going smoothly since, but there were still those moments when both Darry and Ponyboy got annoyed with each other.

At least they weren't yelling anymore.

As Ponyboy tossed his clothes inside of his gym bag, closing his locker, the sound of footsteps approaching from behind caused him to turn around and see who was there. At first, he thought it might be one of the guys, but it wasn't.

"Hey, greaser," George said, crossing his muscular arms across his chest. "Figured I'd find you in here."

The younger boy stared at him, his face apathetic. "What do you want?"

Even though he'd tried to sound tough, his voice still shook a bit. He felt himself zeroing out, like that one day a few weeks ago when he'd held off some Socs with a broken bottle. He thought that Steve and Two-Bit were going to die of shock witnessing that.

But he'd meant what he said; he'd had just about all he could take from them.

George grinned darkly. "How about I shave your hair off? Maybe gut you like your buddy did Bob?"

Ponyboy's hand, which had automatically reached for his back pocket, brushed the cool metal of his blade, his jaw clenching. Nobody was going to take advantage of him like that ever again, not the way they did two months ago, and not the way Bob and his friends had when they'd nearly drowned him.

Soda had given him his old blade with the promise that he wouldn't use it unless he absolutely needed to, no questions asked.

The blade flicked open as he held it in front of himself. "You even think about coming near me and I'll cut you. I mean it."

George eyed the knife for a second, before his gaze met the younger teen's. He could tell that he meant business; he wasn't bluffing.

"You're just like that friend of yours, huh?" George said, motioning toward the knife. "Can't even fight fair."

Ponyboy glared. He'd been called a murderer, or an accomplice to one, meaning Johnny, but he hadn't let it bother him. The dispute with George was something that George had started on his own, dragging both Kevin and Craig into it.

Talk about fair . . .

"What's going on in here?" somebody asked, rounding the corner of the entrance.

Ponyboy quickly shoved the blade back in his pocket as Richie Maulfred, a middle class boy on the team, walked in, eyes flickering between the two other boys.

George scowled. "Nothing."

Richie nodded to Ponyboy. "Pony?"

The younger teen kept his eyes on George's. "Nothing."

Neither of them said anything else as they took their leave, and Ponyboy wondered when he, his brothers, and friends would ever catch a break.

But life ain't fair, he told himself, and he believed it.

 _Nobody cares_

 _'Cause I'm alone and the world is_

 _Having more fun than me_

* * *

 **Thank you for all the comments and reviews! :3**

 **—Cat**


	9. Everything I Was

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Pretty Reckless owns "Nothing Left to Lose."**

* * *

 _And everything that I was_

 _And everything that I've become_

 _Just falls into the end_

 **November 9, 1965**

Dallas jerked awake in bed, his chest tight and his breathing rapid. Sweat beads formed across his hairline, his eyes wide. He slapped a hand to his forehead, wiping away the sweat as he sat up, flicking the light on beside himself.

It wasn't even four in the morning yet.

He couldn't remember what he'd dreamed—something with gunshots, though, and Johnny telling Pony to stay gold or whatever. He scowled, then, knowing exactly what the fuck he had dreamed. It was that night, _that godforsaken_ night that wouldn't leave his fucking mind alone.

And that stupid, goddamn poem he came across in Dopey's literature book the other day had only made it worse. He'd been thinking about the fucking thing since he'd read it. He didn't care about shit like that, poems and literature, but for some reason, that particular one had stuck, and it stuck good.

Grounding his teeth, the greaser rose from the bed and got dressed, before leaving the roadhouse on foot, not caring where he ended up. He just needed to get the hell out of there and clear his head. He didn't want to think about Johnny, or that poem, or . . . anything really.

He needed to blow off steam somehow. He wished Shepard was around, just so he could start with him, but only because he knew the older hood would react with his fists. That was what Dallas needed right then, a good fight.

Too bad Shepard was probably drunk in a gutter at that time of the morning, or maybe he was at home, who the hell knew?

Dally kicked at the gravel, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. His stomach gave a rumble and he sighed. When was the last fucking time he'd eaten anything? Yesterday afternoon, maybe? Yeah, that sounded about right.

Glory, he was starving, but there wasn't any place open at that time that offered a decent meal. If he wanted, he could go to the Curtis's house, but he still didn't want to, not yet at least. He kept telling himself that it was because he wanted to forget, didn't want to remember the Curtis parents, or Johnny.

While that was mostly the case, he still didn't want to really see all of them there, carrying on with their lives like everything was the same when it wasn't.

He especially didn't want to see Darrel. Christ, he'd been the one he'd wanted to talk to on the phone that night, the last one he'd actually spoken to before—

He stopped himself quickly, jerking his body around as he pounded his fist into a telephone pole, his knuckles splintering as the skin tore open a bit.

 _Fuck._

Dallas glanced up to see where in the hell he'd walked to, and he sneered when he realized he was at the cemetery again. Why in the fuck was he there? He suddenly remembered Ponyboy's words last month.

 _I was taking a walk and my feet just kinda brought me here . . ._

With his fists jammed inside of his pockets, the hood made his way up the familiar path, one that he seriously wished _wasn't_ familiar, and stopped at Johnny's grave. He simply stared at the headstone for a while, both wanting and trying not to remember the boy who rested there.

His lips pressed together, eyes narrowing as the anger began to rise. "Are you happy up there, you little punk? This is what you got, huh? A few good articles about yourself, your name blackened by those who _won't_ forget, and you in a fucking box six feet under."

The towheaded teen kicked the dirt beneath his shoes. He probably sounded like a fucking lunatic to anyone who could hear him, not that anyone was around, and not that he gave a shit, because he didn't. He was _too pissed_ to care.

Dallas pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. He was almost certain that he'd lost everything that night two months ago; his fucking pride was certainly diminished, not completely, but still . . .

People looked at him with pity and fear, and he _loathed_ pity. He wasn't someone who needed it.

The one thing he ever bothered to care about was gone, never coming back. That stupid fucking kid with eyes too big for his face, always looking over his shoulder, was gone, dead . . . _forever._ The kid he considered his little brother . . . he was gone.

"I was proud of you, kid," he said lowly. "Still am."

Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Dallas offered one final look at Johnny's grave, remembering the last time he'd ended up there with Ponyboy.

When was that?

Right, the one month anniversary of his death, which was . . . nearly a month ago now. Dallas paused at the entrance, coming to an abrupt stop as a thought crossed his mind.

It was Tuesday, November ninth. Today was his birthday— _his fucking birthday._

He was officially eighteen years old.

* * *

Ella made her way to the guidance office during lunch, almost eager to get her hands on Dallas's file—if she was able to. She knew the secretary normally took her lunch at that time, so it would be easy enough to sneak in and get to the back office where the student files were kept.

She doubted any information regarding his current progress would be in _those_ exact files, but it was certainly worth a shot—one she was going to take.

In her mind, she knew that snooping through the hood's personal records was wrong, _very wrong,_ and it made her feel almost guilty that she'd even thought to do it. Still, she kept telling herself that it would help the both of them if she knew where he was academically.

Friday ended the first marking period, and she had a feeling that Davis would be speaking to the both of them regarding the tutoring sessions, and she wasn't going to bear the brunt of Winston's _failures_ when she was practically responsible for his _success_ in the first place.

As she predicted, the secretary was absent from her usual seat behind the counter, and Ella was left to make her way toward the back of the office. She kept her head down as she walked, her chest a little tight as she imagined getting caught.

Glory, she would be in some kind of trouble.

She had been able to make it inside with ease, though, and closed the door behind herself with a soft _click._ Turning to face the "T – W" cabinets, the teen began her search for Dallas's file, her heart beginning to race. She wondered if what she was doing could be considered illegal, which suddenly made her feel even worse.

Perhaps, she could just—

 _Winston, Dallas_

The name stood out on the manila folder, and her fingers brushed against it almost timidly. As her curiosity got the better of her, Ella pulled the folder from its location, beginning to thumb through it to see what she could find.

Surprisingly, there was nothing overly interesting concealed inside, just some notes from his teachers that weren't useful to her, another note made by one of the guidance counselors from last month—Mrs. Philips—and his personal records. She was about to slip the pages back inside the folder when something caught her eye.

Today was Dallas's birthday.

Ella's lips parted a little as she read over the page, looking at some of the misdemeanors the greaser had been involved in from a young age. She wasn't quite sure how the school obtained them, but figured it was due to the fact that he was there under a plea bargain.

A sigh fell from her lips as she placed Dallas's file back in its spot, creeping quietly out of the office without drawing attention to herself.

She was back out in the hall only moments before the bell rang, a thought crossing her mind that had to do with the hood's birthday.

* * *

There were only three days of the marking period left and Two-Bit hadn't made any progress since his chat with Mr. Davis. He wasn't even sure why he'd shown up today; he'd skipped out on Monday, not in the mood to think about what _could_ be his future.

The comical greaser had never given much thought to that kind of thing before. In his heart, he knew he wouldn't be able to depend on his old lady and his friends all his life; he would have to do something, he just didn't know _what_.

He wasn't book smart, hell, he wasn't sure what he was good at. Shoplifting? Wisecracking? Those weren't exactly things you put on a job application . . .

When the bell rang, the rusty-haired greaser slowly made his way out of the classroom, his usual grin not in place. Instead, his gray eyes were somewhere else, even though once he saw his friends, it would shimmy right back into place.

He waited for Ponyboy to meet him outside, since he was the one driving that day. Steve was headed straight to work, and Dallas had plans with his tutor. Two-Bit almost cracked a smile at that thought. He pictured it, Dally sitting there with Ella, who he'd nicknamed Dopey, passing notes back and forth.

Now _that_ was something to laugh at.

"Hey'ya, Ponyboy," Two-Bit called, once the younger teen came into view. "Over here!"

Ponyboy's face lit up a bit at the sight of his friend, and he quickened his pace a bit as he walked over to the car, avoiding the other students as they hurried to get to their own destinations.

"Hey, Two-Bit," the kid greeted, sliding into the passenger seat and placing his books on the floor. He rolled the window down as he lit up a cigarette, leaning his head back at bit.

Two-Bit glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He wondered if he ought to talk to him about his current school dilemma, but the kid had too much on his own plate, and Two-Bit didn't want to add his problems to the list.

Still, if he even _wanted_ to try, Ponyboy, or even Darry, would be the ones to go to.

Hell, who was he fooling?

Ponyboy spoke. "I'm gonna try and get Soda to come to track on Friday . . . since it's the last one an' all. Figured I'd see if Darry could come along, too."

The older teen grinned. "Shoot, kid, I'll be there cheerin' you on. Maybe we can drag ol' Dally, too, huh? Wouldn't that be somethin' . . ."

He rambled on about nothing important as they waited for Dallas and Steve, attempting to stuff his problems in the back of his mind. He would find a way to deal with them another time. All he knew was that he needed to formulate some kind of plan for the second marking period.

Mr. Davis's words echoed in his mind. He didn't have any plans of throwing his life away, no siree bub. His mother would surely die of shock if he started putting effort into school. Golly, now there was something to consider.

Two-Bit chuckled to himself.

* * *

Ella easily found Dallas in the parking lot. He was leaning against a car, talking to two other boys, a third in the driver's seat. She easily recognized them as Ponyboy Curtis and Steve Randle; she wasn't sure who the third boy was.

She watched as the car took off, and Steve and Dallas began walking in the opposite direction. Another car pulled up, the driver being Evie—Steve's girlfriend—and he and Dallas shook hands before Steve and Evie drove away.

Ella took that as her cue to head over to the hood. He nodded to her as she walked toward him, supporting her bag beside her as she pushed her hair away from her face. She only nodded back to him as they made their way over to the T-Bird.

"You hungry?" she asked quietly, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

Dallas glanced at her quickly, surprised that she'd asked. If he was honest, he was starved, but he never ate consistently, and he seldom indulged in full meals. Still, she was offering, and he wasn't one to say no to food when it was presented.

"Sure," he answered, inwardly glad that she'd inquired. Usually, it was him who would bring up the idea of getting some grub, but Dopey rarely ever ate; she normally would just get a coke. "Dingo?"

Ella shook her head. "I was thinking something a bit—"

"Less rowdy?" he guessed, smirking at her obvious discomfort.

The girl shrugged. "Nicer."

Dallas pursed his lips, but didn't say anything. He wasn't sure where anything _nicer_ was located, and he sure as shit wasn't venturing into Soc territory. Fuck that.

Ella was silent beside him. She wasn't about to tell him right then that she knew it was his birthday; he would probably think she was crazy for wanting to attempt to do something decent for him. No, Dallas was too proud for that sort of thing.

She would settle for keeping it to herself at the moment.

The greaser spoke. "Where in the hell are we gonna find somethin' _nice_ 'round these parts?"

"What's wrong with Dairy Queen?"

Dallas's throat tightened, remembering the last time he'd been to one, but he didn't say anything. He wouldn't let this broad know any of that. Besides, it wasn't like he could argue about distance, really; they were only a few minutes away. Well, he could tell her he wasn't in the mood for it, but he was too damn hungry to really complain.

He simply drove.

* * *

Dallas was surprised that Dopey hadn't tossed any books at him or brought up anything with studying; she'd hardly said anything to him. Normally, she was quiet, keeping to herself, but today she was _too_ quiet, and Dallas didn't like quiet. It made him edgy.

What had first raised his curiosity was when she had suggested getting food, and what floored him after that was when she'd _paid_ for it. She'd _fucking_ _paid_ for both of their meals. The little broad had never done that before, and she wouldn't let him pay for her, either.

Not even when she'd gotten a drink.

The blond figured that it was just a pride thing, but in some way, he kind of admired that. Still, he was sure something was up—she was being . . . _generous_.

He glanced at her as she stuffed a fry in her mouth. "Alright, what the fu— hell, man?"

Ella's head snapped in his direction. "What?"

"You ain't said shit 'bout . . . this garbage," he stated, gesturing to her school books. "Usually, you got me reading somethin', or whatever the hell else, 'fore I even get a piece of food in my mouth."

The girl simply raised an eyebrow. "Are you insisting that I start?"

He turned so that he was facing her in the seat. He still didn't really like her all that much, and the idea of sitting with her in a car chowing down food wasn't something he ever imagined doing. It was a little _too_ casual, and Ella _wasn't_ a friend of his.

"Well, ain't that what you're _supposed_ to be doin'?"

She was silent for a minute, taking a sip of her beverage, before she grabbed her books. "What do you want to start with, then?"

And there it was, the third thing that wasn't right. Ella never asked him what he wanted to do, not once, and he was positive something was up now. Usually, she would grab a book and a notebook that she let him use, before thrusting them at him and _telling_ him where to begin.

She never asked. With her, it was her way or the highway, and that was one of the main reasons the greaser could only tolerate so little of her. She was a fucking pest, a thorn in his damn side that he couldn't wait to get rid of.

Dallas realized that he'd actually gotten accustomed to her ways; he was picking up little things about her from spending too much time with her, and that was something he _didn't_ want. He didn't want that sort of attachment to anything or anyone.

After this marking period ended, he was going to have to get away from her for a bit. Maybe, he wouldn't even need her around anymore after Davis went over his "improved skills."

He hoped that was the case.

* * *

Ponyboy and Soda cleaned up that night after dinner while Darry went over the former's homework; he had been having some trouble with math, and he didn't want to flunk the final quiz of the marking period that was set for the next day.

Darry glanced up from his place on the couch. "You did good, Ponyboy. Not a single one wrong."

The youngest Curtis felt himself relax as he reset the table. "Thanks, Darry." He walked out to the living room where his oldest brother was, gathering up his books. "You mind if I head over to the lot for a while?"

"Watchin' the sun go down?" Soda questioned from the kitchen. He knew the score. Ponyboy had told him that he felt a sense of security there, and Soda deciphered that he felt a closeness to Johnny.

Darry eyed the clock. "Don't be too late, ya hear?"

A small smile crossed his lips. "I won't."

As he placed a dish on the counter to dry, Soda grinned. He was glad his two brothers were getting along again, that they were keeping their promise. Oh, there had been some light bickering here and there, but what family didn't have disputes?

Still, ever since he'd made them promise not to fight, Darry and Pony had been doing their best to get along. Darry had been more lenient with their younger brother, and Ponyboy had been doing real well in school, keeping his grades up, and getting out of that vacuum he'd been in a month ago.

Darry poked his head in the kitchen as the front door slammed. "You want any help drying?" He nodded to the pile of wet dishes.

Soda shook his head. "Nah, that's alright, Dar. You go ahead into the shower, and I'll rub your back after if you want."

"Sure, little buddy."

* * *

Pony sighed contently, leaning forward against the chain link fence as he lit up a cigarette, his eyes focused on the horizon. He thought about Johnny, wishing his friend could be there with him like old times to witness every sunset.

He would never forget the days they'd spent bonding up in Windrixville. It had never occurred to him how deep Johnny Cade really was, and he wished more than anything that they had more time together to discuss all the phenomena that life had to offer. Sure, he could talk to Sodapop about those kinds of things, or maybe Cherry Valance, but nobody had understood more than Johnny.

But Johnny was gone, leaving his buddy to discover those things alone. Ponyboy remembered his words, though, an empty feeling causing his chest to tighten.

 _I never noticed colors and clouds and stuff until you kept reminding me about them. It seems like they were never there before._

Ponyboy was supposed to be the deep one, but Johnny had proven to be even deeper, possibly even more sensitive. The younger boy realized this a while ago, but it had been Johnny's letter that had showed him his friend's vision of life's expanded depths.

They'd both taught each other something, he reckoned. Ponyboy was now recognizing everything with more clarity than before, only it was Johnny who wasn't there now.

The teen stubbed his cigarette beneath his foot as the sun began to set, the colors morphing and fading into one another like a used paint pallet.

Golly, it was sure pretty.

"What are ya doin', kid?" a voice inquired from behind him.

The greaser nearly jumped out of his skin, craning his neck around to see Dallas. "Nothin'."

He didn't want to divulge to Dally Winston that he was out there watching the sunset. He would think he was soft. It wasn't a secret that Ponyboy was a sensitive individual, though, but he would never admit anything like that to Dallas out loud.

And especially not since their last encounter, where he'd told the older boy that Johnny wanted him to watch one, too. That hadn't exactly gone too well, and Ponyboy didn't want to approach the subject again . . . or ever, really.

Dally leaned against the rail a few inches from him, draping his arms over the side. He gave the metal a jiggle, before resting his weight against it.

Ponyboy tensed a little. He didn't like being alone with Dallas, not that he was truly afraid of the older hood, even though he still scared him to an extent. It was the cold disposition about him, the feelings that radiated off him that caused the younger greaser to grimace.

Dally glanced at him, pushing his white-blond wisps of hair out of his eyes. "What are ya thinkin' 'bout so deeply, man? I thought you had a heart attack or somethin' when I spoke."

Pony shrugged. "Guess I'm thinking about . . . school, you know, with the marking period ending . . ."

He trailed on for a minute or so, and Dally was left to wonder exactly why the kid was lying to him. He knew Pony to be one hell of a liar when he wanted to be, but he knew right then that he wasn't being truthful.

The hood couldn't exactly blame him, though; he'd never been one for sentiments or wholehearted conversations that got overly deep.

That kind of thing just wasn't his forte.

"Sure," he responded, not really listening. "Hey, uh, you see Two-Bit around lately?"

Pony blinked, taken back by the question and sudden change of conversation. "He gave me a ride home today . . ."

Dallas nodded. "He seem good to you?"

The younger greaser shrugged a bit. "I guess so, why?"

"Nothin'," was the answer, leaving Ponyboy to wonder why Dallas would be inquiring about Two-Bit.

Sometimes, he simply felt lost.

 _Ever since the day we died, well_

 _I've got nothing left to lose_

* * *

 **Comments and reviews are appreciated! :3**


	10. One Hell of a Place

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Halestorm owns "Amen."**

* * *

 _Gets harder every day_

 _This is one hell of a place_

 _To keep your heart from freezing_

 _To keep yourself believing_

 **November 12, 1965**

Ella scribbled down the last of her biology notes, glad that the class was nearly over. She was never one for science to begin with, so she never found enjoyment in class.

The other students chattered around her, already finished with the assignment. Ella had always been rather slow when it came to both science material and mathematics, as they weren't her strong suits, so she tried to take her time with each subject.

"Hey," Craig greeted from her right, leaning across the table she was at and offering her a soft smile.

The brown-haired girl jumped back a hair. "Craig—"

"I know, I startled you," he finished, chuckling. "I was wondering if—"

"If I was busy tonight?" she guessed, raising an inquisitive brow. At Craig's mildly shocked expression, she continued. "You've asked me out nearly every day this week."

An innocent look blanketed the boy's features. "I'm sorry. I just . . . I really enjoyed our last date, and I would like to see you again."

Ella flushed. She wasn't used to boys asking her out, or noticing her for that matter. She never considered herself good-looking; she was plain, ordinary, not the girl you'd see on the arm of a nice, well-mannered boy who was popular and outgoing.

Or so she had thought.

It was true, though. Craig had approached her every day that week inquiring about a second date, and Ella had been either working or tutoring, so she was never able to go. Craig had been patient with her, but he wasn't shy about being persistent in his quest to go out with her again.

She had actually been more shocked than anything. For the first time, she felt liked, _noticed_ , and it made her stomach knot and her chest tighten. Craig had wanted to go out with her, he _liked_ her, and Ella wasn't used to that kind of thing.

"Would tomorrow work for you?" she asked, searching his face.

Craig grinned. "Sure. Same time?" At her nod, he slipped her a piece of paper. "Call me."

Ella felt the heat rising to her cheeks as she stared down at his number. As the bell rang, she placed it inside of her bag and gathered up her books to head to history.

* * *

Dally sat in Mr. Davis's office with a contemptuous look on his face. He was getting awfully sick of these visits with the principal, even though they'd only spoken a few times. The hood seldom had any tolerance for authoritative figures, and Mr. Davis was no exception.

He wondered if he was called down to discuss his grades or whatever, and sighed in annoyance, using the heel of his boot to drum against the floor.

The older man entered only moments later, eyeing Dallas with vague interest. He sat behind his desk, shuffling through his papers until he reached a manila folder with the greaser's name on it.

"You're aware that today ends the first marking period, yes?" Mr. Davis asked, not even sparing Dallas a glance. "Your teachers were good enough to send your current progress and grades to me throughout the week so we can go over where you're at." He thumbed through some papers, ignoring the lack of response from Dallas.

The blond hardly listened as Davis read his grades aloud, going over how it was practically a miracle that he'd _just_ passed the marking period. Yeah, a real fucking miracle alright. It was a _miracle_ that he'd made it this far; next Monday would mark one month since he'd started at this hell-hole.

"So's, that mean I don't need a tutor no more?" Dallas asked curiously. "You know, since I passed an' all."

Mr. Davis gave him a skeptical look. "The tutoring sessions are part of the stipulation that you attend this school, Mr. Winston. Academically, you are still quite far behind, and it is our job to make sure that you don't fall further back." He shook his head. "Is there a problem with that?"

Dallas's eyes met his, a sneer on his face. The man was testing him, he could tell. Since the minute he had set foot in this school, in Davis's office, he knew that the older man didn't like him, and he was going to let him know that in every undermining way that he could.

"You mean I'm stuck with that broad for the rest of the school year?" At the principal's blatant expression, he didn't need a clarified answer. "Well, fuck."

That certainly caused a reaction. "Language, Mr. Winston!" Davis sat up straight, squaring his shoulders as he did. "The second marking period begins on Monday. I expect to see those grades come up within the next few weeks."

Seven months. He was down to seven lousy months before he was done with this place. He gritted his teeth thinking that if Davis was anyone else, he would have belted him already without a moment's hesitation.

As the towheaded greaser went to exit the office, a sly remark on the tip of his tongue, Mr. Davis spoke in a causal tone, causing the teen to stop by the door and forget his comment.

"Perhaps you could be a role-model of sorts to your friend Keith, since he hasn't bothered to make any improvement since our talk Monday."

Dally's lips thinned out as he thought about Two-Bit. He wondered if that was the reason his clown of a buddy had been somewhat off—not that there was anything about Two-Bit that wasn't off.

With that, Dallas took his leave, making it his business to find out what the hell was going on with Mathews.

* * *

Ponyboy turned his head to the side, lighting up a smoke, as he attempted to ignore the sound of Steve sweet-talking Evie on the driver's side of his car. His ears had tinted red, and he considered leaving the pair to hang around some of his other friends just to get away for a few minutes.

Luckily for him, though, Dally would be joining them soon. Two-Bit had cut out early after he received a detention in math class.

"Hey, Ponyboy," Richie Maulfred said, jogging over to the younger boy. "Are you ready for tonight?"

Ponyboy took a drag of his cigarette, Darry's voice echoing in his mind about him smoking so much his lungs ought to be black. He was sure they could be, being a weed fiend and all. The greaser wasn't sure he wanted to quit, though, no matter how serious he took athletics.

He nodded to Richie, his fellow track partner. "About as ready as I'll ever be."

Richie grinned. "Sure." A pause. "George and his cronies still giving you a rough time?"

"They ain't doing nothing," Ponyboy replied, a hint of indigence laced in his voice. He looked at his older acquaintance quickly. "Shoot, Richie, I didn't mean—"

The light-haired boy merely shook his head, eyes landing on Dallas Winston as he approached. "Don't worry about. Look, I'll see you later, yeah?"

Ponyboy watched him go, dropping his cigarette butt and squashing it into the gravel. He offered Dally a curt nod as the older teen leaned his back against Steve's car beside him.

"Two-Bit here?" he asked leisurely, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

Pony shook his head. "Cut out early."

Dally swore under his breath, before turning around to face Steve and Evie. "You two ought to get a room for Pete's sake. Ain't nobody around who wants to see you two playing tonsil hockey."

Steve simply shot him the bird, which caused the towheaded teen to rock the hood of the car to give them a shake, since they were leaning against it.

"Glory, Dallas, quit it, will ya?" Steve said, shooting his buddy a glare.

Evie crossed her arms, pulling away from her boyfriend. "Forget it. I'll see you later, Stevie."

After she had walked away, Steve jerked his head around to sneer at Dallas. "Asshole."

The other teen only responded with a gratified smirk as Steve lit up his own cigarette, casually walking around the passenger side of his car.

"You taking a shift at Buck's tonight?" he asked, eyeing Dallas coolly.

Dallas hummed in response. It wasn't exactly a secret that he was working the bar a few hours here and there for the notorious bootlegging cowboy who housed him almost scot-free.

Steve continued. "There a party tonight? Evie was talking about going."

Beside them, Ponyboy rolled his eyes, knowing that Soda would probably be going along with them if there was. Ever since Sandy left, Steve had been trying to get him out around other girls—his way of attempting to make him forget about his former love.

Pony wondered if that was even possible. Still, he and Darry both hated seeing their brother so broken up over the girl who apparently hadn't loved him the way he loved her. It had been surprising to learn of her disloyalty; nobody ever thought her to be the type.

Dallas shrugged. "Yeah, probably. It's a Friday night." He inwardly grimaced at the sound of Hank Williams echoing through his mind. Buck's taste in music left a lot to be desired; it was fucking disgusting.

"Tuff enough," Steve replied, blowing out a smoke ring.

* * *

Ella sighed almost dramatically as she left the main office later that afternoon. Mr. Davis had wanted to speak with her briefly about Dallas Winston. He'd wanted to make sure that she was aware that the hood would be continuing the tutoring sessions with her until June.

The brown-haired girl almost pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She had to spend another _seven months_ with Dallas Winston? What could be worse than that? Glory, that was a lot of time to spend around somebody that you didn't necessarily like.

Was three days a week at two hours per day for the last month not enough? And just when Ella thought that maybe she might be done with Winston, Mr. Davis has to drill that into her skull.

Speaking of the blond headed greaser, Ella hadn't really seen him since Wednesday, and she almost felt like he was avoiding her or something, not that they had any reason to associate with one another besides tutoring. Still, he had approached her on a few occasions during the school day, even if it was just to mock her in some way or another.

Just as she was rounding the corner, she had practically collided into somebody, sending her books sprawling out of her hands.

"Shoot, I'm sorry—"

"Ponyboy," she greeted, reaching for a fallen book. "I didn't see you."

The younger teen handed her the other book, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry about that."

Ella waved it off. "It's fine, honestly." She took a breath. "How are you?"

Pony smiled a little. "Alright, I guess. How've you been? Dal giving you a rough time?"

His cheeks flushed a bit as he rambled for a second. Usually, he didn't talk much, but he had been utterly shocked that he'd _literally_ ran into Dally's tutor. He hadn't seen her since that day they spoke in the library a month ago.

She chuckled lightly. "What would you consider rough? I was under the assumption that rough was just his way of expressing himself."

He nodded. "Yeah, you could say that."

Ella clutched her books against her chest, tilting her head a bit to look at Ponyboy. There was something about him that she liked, and she didn't even know him. He just seemed like a decent kid to her, and she appreciated the fact that he _wasn't_ like Dallas.

Ponyboy's cheeks began heating up when he realized Ella's blue orbs were focused directly on him, and he looked away quickly, slightly embarrassed but not put-off.

"Well, I'd better get goin'. My teacher will think I ditched the rest of the period," he explained, giving her a quick nod. "I'll see you around."

* * *

Two-Bit entered the DX, the bell giving a light chime as the door slammed behind him. He wasn't sure exactly why he'd walked there, but he didn't feel like being in school any longer, and there didn't seem to be any action going on elsewhere.

Soda walked around from the back, giving his friend a bright grin. "Well, howdy!"

Two-Bit clapped him on the shoulder. "How's it goin', buddy? Thought I'd drop by and visit ya."

The younger teen playfully whacked his arm off. "Yeah, seein' as it's my break, you're just in time." He looked him over carefully. "Didn't feel like going to school today?"

He shrugged. "Well, thing about that is, Old Lady Baker gave me a detention for disrupting her class one too many times, and I figured, might as well bail out now. No use in me stayin', there ain't nothing going on around that joint."

"Says the one who enjoys going."

Two-Bit swiped a Pepsi from the fridge. "Hey, now, don't go getting sassy on me, Curtis. I get enough of that from the younger one."

The golden-haired boy gave a wolfish smile. "Runs in the family."

"I've heard that before," he replied, plopping down next to Soda behind the station. "So, how's your day treating ya?"

Soda shrugged, wiping his hands on a spare rag, before ripping the package of a candy bar open. "Not too shabby." He glanced at Two-Bit when he didn't offer some smart response, noticing the distant look in his gray eyes. "You alright, man?"

"Yeah, it's just, ya know Mr. Davis? Well, he's gotten on my case about school an' all," Two-Bit said quickly, pressing his palms against his knees. "Might expel me or somethin' if I don't shape up."

He wasn't sure why he'd divulged this information to Sodapop, but sometimes, the middle Curtis was easy to talk to; he didn't judge or try to tell you what to do. He simply offered his counsel with a laid back understanding of whatever you told him.

"Oh, glory," the younger teen exclaimed. "Well, what do you want to do?"

Two-Bit shrugged lethargically. "Hell, I don't know. I don't really want to quit. Ol' Davis says he can work somethin' out if I decide to start doing the work and stuff."

"Maybe you should." Soda took a sip of his own drink. "Why don't you talk to Ponyboy? He could help you, ya know." He smiled, brown eyes bright. "Might be good for the both of y'all, what do ya say?"

The older teen chuckled. "I say . . . it's gonna take a whole lotta believin' in me, but I'll sure think about it."

Soda grinned, tossing an arm around the older boy's shoulders. "Don't you worry about that none. If it counts for something, I _know_ you can do it."

And even though he was unaware of it, that was _just_ what the comical greaser needed to hear.

* * *

Slamming her locker shut, Ella pulled her bag over her shoulder, glad that it was light enough without any books, having finished her homework during her lunch period. She turned on her heel, making to head out, when she noticed a head of white-blond hair coming her way.

"Dallas," she called out, instantly gritting her teeth at the use of his name. It felt bitter inside her mouth.

She didn't really want to talk to him, but she had wanted to briefly summarize what Mr. Davis had said to her earlier that day. Usually, since it was a Friday, Ella would meet Dallas in the parking lot, but they didn't have anything planned that day, so she was lucky to see him before he left.

The hood stopped in front of her, a hard look on his face. "Whatta ya want?"

Ella recoiled only a little, but kept her eyes on his. "I spoke to Mr. Davis this afternoon—"

"And?" He sounded bored, or annoyed, though she wasn't sure which. Maybe both.

" _And_ he told me that you passed, but that you, _we_ , needed to keep up the tutoring," she explained in one breath, pursing her lips. "I didn't know if he spoke to you or not."

Dallas snorted. "He did, _sweets_. I'm way ahead of you."

Of course he did. Ella mentally kicked herself. The towheaded greaser seemed agitated about something, and she didn't want to press him any further. In fact, she was actually sorry she had even attempted to reach out to him in the first place.

"Oh," she mumbled as Dallas brushed past her, heading toward the doors.

"That all?"

"I guess," she answered. "I just wanted to let you know that he spoke to me about it, too. And I wanted to know what you wanted to do about it . . . continuing, I mean."

The blond paused, jerking around to give her a cool stare. "You got a personality disorder or somethin'?" At her baffled expression, he glared. "You act like I'm the biggest pain in your ass, and the other fucking day, you're . . . decent. Now you're acting like we're friends or some shit. What's yer deal, girl?"

Ella stared, dumbstruck. "I was being nice to you because it was your birthday." Her eyes immediately broadened, having forgot that he didn't know that she knew about it. His eyes were piercing hers, questioning, and she bit her lip. "I saw it in your file."

"The fuck did you just say?"

"Your—"

He was in her face then. "Who the hell gave you permission to snoop around my records, huh?" When she didn't offer a reply, the hood shoved her back into the lockers, causing her bag to drop off of her shoulder. "Stay the fuck away from me." With that, he walked away, kicking her bag across the floor along with some of the items that had spilled out.

Ella swallowed the lump in her throat, unaware that she was crying, tears falling down her cheeks.

* * *

Dallas drove out of the school parking lot, his teeth grinding against each other. He couldn't stand that bushy-haired bitch. Who the fuck did she think she was?

He wasn't stupid; he'd figured that the little punk had gone and snooped through his files intentionally, and he wondered why the hell she would do it in the first place—certainly not to find out when his birthday was.

Still . . . it didn't stop Dallas from being pissed off. The broad had no fucking right. _None_. He'd wanted to hit her, but he hadn't. He didn't exactly find it tuff to go around beating on women, although shoving them off at places like Buck's was something different entirely.

He wouldn't ever raise his hand to a girl like that. _But fucking Ella_ . . . boy, he'd wanted to rip her a new one, and he knew he had to get out of there before he did something he would later regret—not that Dallas Winston ever regretted anything.

He needed to hit something, though. Fucking Davis had pissed him off, that fucking Soc in his English class, fucking Two-Bit ditching out early, and now Ella—stupid fucking broad. His jaw clenched, eyes blazing in pure anger. He needed to find Shepard, pay him the hell back for his snide ass remarks about his "school boy lifestyle."

Yeah, Shepard sounded like just the guy he wanted to pound his fists into.

He'd miss Ponyboy's race, but that didn't matter now—Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit would likely be there cheering him on or whatever.

All he wanted to do was vent his anger by beating the shit out of someone. Pursing his lips, he headed downtown where Shepard's outfit haunted in search of the hood himself.

* * *

After her shift, Ella headed home, still feeling upset and angry about her run-in with Dallas Winston. It had only been a few hours since the incident, but the teen wasn't feeling any better. She knew what she had done was wrong, _low_ even, but it was solely for good intentions.

She hadn't meant to snoop—not in the literal sense anyway.

The brown-haired girl had spent the majority of her time at the store moping about, mostly out of pure frustration. Jan had noticed and inquired if she was alright. Usually, Ella would never bring anyone into her problems, but she'd been so upset with herself that she told Jan everything.

The older women seemed sympathetic, but there wasn't much she could do to console her distressed co-worker. It was moments like this when Ella wished her mother was around more often so she could just _talk_ to her, but she'd worked too much and rarely saw her daughter.

Jan had merely encouraged her to go and do something for herself, but the teenager wasn't sure what there was to do. She had no homework to busy herself with, there was nothing interesting on the tube, and she didn't feel like making herself dinner; she was sure she couldn't stomach food with the way she was feeling right then.

Tossing her bag onto her bed, Ella flopped onto her stomach, blowing a stray piece of her hair away from her face. When had life become so dull that she couldn't even find entertainment in something worthwhile?

Jerking her head to the side, she noticed a folded piece of paper poking out from the top of her bag and she reached over to see what it was, before realizing it was Craig's number. A smile brushed her lips as she remembered what a nice time she'd had with him a week ago at The Nightly Double.

Ella walked out to the kitchen where the main rotary was located, before taking a breath and dialing the digits on the paper.

"Hello?" a voice answered, and Ella's heart began beating a little harder.

"Craig?" she asked, even though she could tell that it was him.

A pause. "Yes, who's this?"

"Ella Mitchell," she replied slow-like. "Um, I was wondering if you still wanted to get together tonight, maybe . . . ?"

"Of course!" he replied with enthusiasm. "There's a party going on at Buck's place tonight. Some of my friends were going with their girls for fun. You want to come with?"

And through her frustration and hurt, Ella agreed absently. She wasn't even sure _why_ she had agreed to go, or why she had even _bothered_ to call Craig in the first place, even though she really liked him. Was she really _that_ desperate to get away from her problems?

Glory, it was _only_ Dallas Winston.

Still, she was determined to forget about that no-good hoodlum. She was going to have a good time with a _nice_ boy who treated her decently.

 _But I won't run_

 _I'm not ashamed_

 _It's gonna take more than this for me to break_

* * *

 **Thank you all so much for the comments and reviews! I've been trying to respond to everyone, so if I missed you, I sincerely apologize. This also goes for any of you who have read and reviewed my other stories on here. Your feedback is so very much appreciated! I'm glad that you're all enjoying this story so far. :3**

 **Happy Friday The 13th!**

 **—Cat**


	11. Games of the Weekend

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Lorde owns "Sober."**

* * *

 _These are the games of the weekend_

 _We pretend that we just don't care_

 _But we care_

 _(But what will we do when we're sober?)_

 **November 12 – 13, 1965**

Ponyboy came jogging over to his older brother, who wrapped him up in his arms, congratulating him on winning the race. Steve merely clapped the kid on the shoulder while Two-Bit hooted, pumping his fists up in the air.

"I knew you could do it!" Soda said, dropping his arms back to his side, before chuckling. "Glory, Pone, but you sure are sweaty."

The younger greaser was still panting a little. "Well, I just—"

"We know, we know," Steve cut in, generously tossing him a rag. "You're drizzling down your face, kid."

Pony took the offered towel, wiping his face off, before wrapping it around his neck. He was honestly proud of himself, and he knew that his coach was, too. He wished more than anything that Darry could have been there to see him win, but the older boy had to work that evening.

Steve turned toward Two-Bit. "You coming to Buck's tonight?"

The older teen nodded. "Don't have nothin' better to do. You bringing Evie along?"

"She's the one who wanted to go in the first place," the dark-haired boy answered, shaking his head as he lit up a cigarette. "She's been nagging me 'bout taking her out."

Soda grinned. "Well, ya should, buddy."

Steve raised a dark brow. "You coming with?"

Pony felt his heart drop a little when Soda shot him a look, one he knew all too well. He didn't want his brother to know that he really wanted to hangout with him once in a while, too. He was kind of bugged that Steve had been "hogging" Soda more than usual, but he understood.

It wasn't like Darry was going to let _him_ go out to try and pick up dames, and besides, it wasn't exactly like Pony was interested in that kind of thing yet anyway. Maybe he could get Darry to go to a movie with him or something, even though movies didn't really interest him anymore.

"It's alright, Soda," Pony assured, feigning a smile. "Me an' Darry can find something to do."

Soda frowned, but there was a hopeful look in his eyes. "You sure? I don't—"

"Yeah, you do," the younger boy exclaimed quickly. "Really, go on out and have fun for once."

At that, Steve's gaze landed on Ponyboy, a silent expression of gratitude on his face. Ponyboy merely gave a small nod of his head. He could feel Two-Bit looking between the two of them, probably real shocked that he had encouraged Soda to go with him and Steve.

Two-Bit grinned in spite of himself; Ponyboy was sure starting to grow up some. It was no secret that Soda's best friend and kid brother didn't exactly get along, so it had been a surprise to hear those words from the kid.

The rusty-haired teen wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

* * *

Dallas came sauntering into the roadhouse, sporting a fresh black eye and a bloody nose. His cheek had turned a shade and was beginning to swell where Tim had socked him good. The blond could only grin lethally, having got what he went searching for—a good fight.

Ol' Tim really could pack one hell of a punch. On the other hand, Dally had busted his ribs up pretty well, and he was nearly certain that the older hood had a broken nose. The crunch it had made beneath Dally's fist was a satisfying sound indeed.

"Winston!" Buck called, snapping the teen from his thoughts. "I need you at the bar."

The blond rolled his eyes, before glaring at the cowboy. "What the fuck do you want, Buck?"

He wasn't in the mood to deal with Buck Merril at the moment. He just wanted to get up to his room and attempt to get some shut-eye for a while. It was a Friday evening, and the place was sure to be hopping in a few hours, and he knew he wouldn't be receiving sleep then.

"Yer workin' tonight, kid," Buck stated, eyeing him coolly. "Seven to ten, got it?"

Dallas gritted his teeth. He could take Buck, he knew that; nobody ordered him around and got away with it. Then again, Buck _had_ been letting him stay for free with use of the car, so long as he filled it up when needed.

Glory, but he was getting soft, he thought, clenching his jaw.

Glancing at the clock, the hood realized that he only had a half hour to spare. Terrific, just fucking terrific. What the hell else could piss him off today?

Mumbling swears under his breath, Dallas made his way upstairs, wishing for one moment that he could have some peace and quiet. Once inside his room, he walked into the bathroom to nurse his nose, pulling his shirt off and running it under the tap so he had something to clean up with.

He was going to need to do his laundry soon. He was getting low on shirts, and he had been wearing the same pair of jeans for three days in a row.

Dallas Winston wouldn't be caught dead in a laundromat, and he only knew one place where he could go, besides his dad's, or Sylvia's.

Looks like he would be making an unwanted trip to the Curtis house after all.

Well, fuck.

* * *

Ella waited on the porch for Craig later that night. She was glad she had more time to get ready for this date; she was able to style her hair nicely and touch up with a bit of makeup, not enough to make her stand out, but just a hint to be noticed.

She actually felt good about herself for once, though the constant flipping of her stomach wasn't really helping her mood all that much. She wasn't sure why she was nervous—Craig had been so nice the last time, and he was always polite to her in school.

Perhaps it was just _where_ they would be spending their evening.

The teen wasn't used to places like Buck's roadhouse, and going there last time to meet up with Dallas for a tutor session made her so anxious she had nearly passed out just walking there.

The sound of a car pulling up snapped the girl from her thoughts, and she perked up, a smile crossing her lips as she headed down the steps toward Craig's car.

He greeted her with a grin of his own and a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm really glad you called," he admitted as he started driving. He glanced at her quickly. "It won't be a lot of us going, just some guys from school and their girls."

Ella nodded. "Who?"

Craig began rambling off names while his date listened. She knew some he'd mentioned, having grown up around the majority of them, but others she didn't, or hadn't even heard of. She still couldn't believe she was doing this; she hadn't even told her mother about her first date with Craig.

The brown-haired boy noticed her apprehensive expression. "We don't have to go if you don't—"

"No, no," she said quickly, and then flushed. "It's fine. I'm just . . . new to all this."

Craig offered her a genuine smile. "Well, you're doing just fine. Besides, you look real pretty tonight."

Ella felt her cheeks heating. Craig had surely made her blush a lot, and glory, she really liked him. He made her feel good about herself, made her feel noticed. He didn't treat her like she was just some girl he'd picked up for a cheap thrill—he liked her.

She was flattered that he took notice to her appearance that night; Lord knows she had actually put effort into her outfit and style for once. She had done her hair real nice—half up and half down—and wore another pair of formfitting pants, along with a lower cut blouse that didn't give too much away.

She was pleased with the job, having never really dolled herself up before. Still, she kept everything to a minimal, not overdoing it.

Ella could hear the music from the building before they had even pulled into the lot. She had only been there the once, but that was earlier in the evening. It was almost nine o'clock now, and the place was crammed with people—teenagers, rugged cowboys, greasers . . . all kinds of people.

Craig glanced at her. "You alright?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah."

The two walked up the porch together, Craig taking Ella's hand, which had caused another blush to form on her cheeks; she was thankful that it was dark out. She would just about die of embarrassment if Craig saw how flustered he made her.

Buck answered the door, eyeing the two skeptically. It wasn't a secret that he was being strict about who he let inside now. Thing was, most of his service relied on the cowboys and select few greasers who partied there, and weekends were always busy.

Ella felt Buck's gaze on her, and she realized that he might have remembered her from a few weeks ago when she'd shown up looking for Dallas. The thought caused a knot to form in her stomach; she really hoped that the older cowboy wasn't assuming the wrong thing.

"Got room for two?" Craig asked, smirking a bit. At Buck's hesitation, he continued. "Come on, Buck, Fred and Will are waiting for us."

With a roll of his eyes, Buck motioned them in, pushing the screen ajar. Craig entered first, Ella following in behind him, the haze of smoke clouding her eyes and burning her nostrils. The bar was packed, people crammed at the tables off to the side and filling in the back room while others made their way upstairs.

The sound of voices, laughing and yelling, over the music was deafening, and Ella suddenly wished that she wasn't there. This wasn't her scene at all, and she suddenly felt uneasy. It hadn't been this insane the first time she had come, but it was also late, and it was a Friday night.

Craig pulled her closer, before leading her to the bar. "Come on."

Despite the crowded house, Craig was able to find two spare stools, nodding once at two other boys who were already seated. "Where's Audrey and Donna?"

"Restroom," came the answer.

Craig motioned to Ella. "This is Ella Mitchell, my date." The two looked her up and down, before Craig introduced them. "Ella, this is Fred Johnson and Will Farrow."

The girl smiled shyly. "Hi."

They gave her a curt nod, but other than that, didn't pay much attention to her. They seemed decent enough, though. Both boys were similar to Craig in terms of dress and demeanor; Fred was dark-haired with green eyes, and Will had red hair and blue eyes. Ella assumed that Audrey and Donna were their girlfriends.

"You want a drink?" Craig offered, but before she could respond, he was already waving the bartender over, asking for two beers.

Ella aimlessly kept her gaze on the counter in front of herself, but when she heard the voice from behind it speaking, she immediately looked up, wishing she hadn't.

There stood Dallas Winston, not even one foot from her. He placed two bottles in front of Craig, before his eyes snapped over in her direction, brows raising slightly. Ella, still angry and disgusted with him, looked away, nostrils flaring a bit. Apparently, his feelings toward her were replicated, because he sneered at her before walking away.

Well, that was just fine with her—she didn't like him anyway. He could go to hell for all she cared.

As the minutes ticked ahead, Ella grew bored. Craig had stayed with her for a while, before inviting her to watch him play a game of pool. He continued to order drinks for the both of them, Ella drinking hers slowly while he downed his. Even though she hadn't drank much, the girl was beginning to feel a slight buzz, not used to having alcohol in her system.

Audrey and Donna had joined the crowd, along with a smaller group of girls and their boyfriends, some who Craig had named earlier. Ella merely strolled back to the bar, absently watching everyone around her and trying to ignore the fact that Dallas Winston was only a few feet away from her.

* * *

It was nearing ten when Steve and Evie decided they were about to bail. Even though it was a Friday night, Evie's parents were still strict with her curfew, wanting her home no later than ten thirty. Two-Bit was already soused, putting the moves on a girl with wheat colored hair, and Soda sat at the bar across from Dallas, looking ready to leave as well.

"Want a drink or somethin'?" the towheaded hood asked, glancing at Soda.

The younger teen shook his head. "Naw, I think I'll be heading out soon. Might catch a ride with Steve 'cause ol' Two-Bit looks about ready to pass out."

Dallas's eyes moved across the room, landing on their crocked friend. "Yeah, well, whatta ya want? He couldn't keep his hands off of beer if he was offered money for it."

Soda grinned, before motioning to the girl who sat on the opposite side of the bar. "That gal has been sittin' there all night by herself. Wonder if she's been ditched or something . . ."

The blond resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "That broad is my tutor." He said tutor using air quotes, shaking his head at the girl. "Real pain in the ass."

Soda raised a brow, scrutinizing the oblivious girl. She didn't look bad to him, or how any of the other guys described her; she simply looked . . . bored with everything, or just bland. He didn't think she was ugly, but he hadn't found her all that attractive, though that was mostly because her looks didn't appeal to him in that way.

"Sorry to hear that," was his half meant response. His gaze shifted to the clock. "You about finished up for the night?" At the blond's nod, Soda continued. "I'm going to see if Steve is ready to head out, maybe we'll drag Two-Bit, too, drop him off at his house." He smirked at the thought. "You wanna come with? The couch is free if you need a place."

Although the idea was tempting, Dallas shook his head. "No, no, I'm gonna stay here. See what kind of trouble the rest of the night has planned for me."

He didn't truly mean that, not really. In all honesty, Dallas was tired, and he really wished he could bail out and go to sleep. He only had five minutes left, so he didn't really care anyway. Before Soda had a chance to respond, a girl with dark hair and green eyes approached the bar. Sylvia.

Dallas almost groaned at the sight of her, and Soda took that as his cue to leave. Once he was out of earshot, Dally faced his ex-girlfriend with a scowl.

"What do you want, Sylvia?"

"Can we talk . . . privately?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice, a sound Dallas wasn't used to. "It ain't nothin' like that, I swear."

He looked her over slowly, the scowl never leaving his face. "You sure you want to do that, _baby?_ Last time things got private, you didn't leave." He gave her a bitter smirk.

The teen rolled her eyes. "Dallas, please," she nearly hissed.

After a moment of hesitation, one which seemed like forever, Dallas hopped over the counter, grabbing her arm and leading her up the stairs. Sylvia shrugged his hand away, crossing her arms over her chest as they entered his room.

Once inside, Dallas closed the door, reaching for a cigarette and lighting up, before cracking the window. Sylvia sat on the bed, her gaze focused on her lap, her lips in a frown. Usually, Dallas would be expecting her to jump his bones by now, but she merely sat there with an anxious expression.

"Well?" he pushed, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

And that's when she finally looked up at him, tears staining her porcelain cheeks. Dallas's brows knitted together as he watched her, unused to this behavior. Sylvia was a tough chick, who didn't take anyone's shit—guy or girl—and she was fiery and calm at the same time. He'd only ever seen her cry once, and that was when he'd first cheated on her. Well, hey, payback's a bitch.

She'd been drunk, kissed another boy and tried to cover it up, before Tim Shepard came back and told him the whole thing. That night, he'd bedded another broad simply to let Sylvia know that he _didn't_ need her, and that's when things spiraled downward. Still, the two had always come back to each other, whether in a drunken stupor, or because they were bored.

Last time, he had broken it off with her, after finding out that she'd cheated on him while he was in jail again, and that was over two months ago.

Still, little Sylvia was the only chick who ever put up with his bullshit; the only thing that she had done that floored him was when she'd come on to Johnny, which he had to find out through Steve. Glory, he had almost knocked her fucking head off.

Her sniffle brought him back to the present. "It's complicated."

With a roll of his eyes, the blond sat down beside her, leaning back against the wall. "Just spit it the fuck out already." And then he looked at her again, really _looked_ at her, eyes narrowing. Her face was pale, eyes wide and glassy, but her skin . . . something was different. "You pregnant or somethin'?"

And then the fucking water works started. She couldn't just cry, _no_ , she had to dramatically sob herself ugly until Dallas was sure she would dehydrate from spilling that much water out her eyes.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray. "Why the hell are you telling me this shit, Syl?" A pause. "It ain't mine."

"It's not!" she all but screeched, holding her face in her hands. "It's not even that, I just—" She looked at him again, green eyes meeting blue ones. "He'll _kill_ me, Dally. He's gonna kill me, he's gonna fucking—" Glory, but her face was stark red, cheeks all puffy and tear streaked.

He knew she was talking about her old man. Dally had met him on several occasions, and though he wasn't afraid of him by any means, the guy _was_ intimidating, and he didn't shy away from "correcting" Sylvia when she got out of hand. He'd seen the marks on her plenty of times, and it made him fucking sick, not that he would ever tell her that.

After a minute, he reached for his pack of cigarettes again, lighting one up and handing it off to her, before following suit with his own. Her sobs had died down after a while, but her sniffles were still evident, causing her body to tremble every few seconds.

Unsure of what to do, Dallas gritted his teeth, eyes hard, as he draped an arm around her shoulders, fingers pressing into her skin. Instinctively, Sylvia's frail arms wrapped around his torso, her head tucking under his chin.

They were quiet.

* * *

Ella felt dizzy. She wasn't sure how many drinks Craig and his friends had ordered, or how many she had consumed. Golly, she sure felt awful. Her head was pounding and her stomach ached, and she was sure she wouldn't be feeling any better come—

Her eyes landed on the clock. It was after one in the morning! Eyes darting around the room, the girl found that the bar was practically empty, save for the select few leftover strays who were hanging out at the tables talking among themselves.

How the hell long had she been sitting there? Glory, she remembered seeing Sylvia Evans and Dallas Winston head upstairs, and that was . . . over three hours ago!

A hand touched her shoulder. "You ready to leave?"

Ella whipped around, wishing she hadn't moved that fast. "Where have you—"

"Hey, relax," Craig said gently, gesturing toward the back room. "Will and I just finished a game of poker, I didn't know it would—" He noticed her expression, then, and his eyes lowered. "Gee, I'm sorry. I'm a lousy date, aren't I?"

The brown-haired girl sighed, pressing a hand to her head. "Would you please take me home?"

Craig nodded, walking beside her as she headed toward the door. He kept his eyes on her, unsure if she was truly angry or hurt. The relief in her eyes when he'd gotten her was almost shocking. She looked collected, but extremely unhappy, and he mentally kicked himself.

Once in the lot, he reached for her arm, causing her to stop. "Listen, Ella, I'm real sorry I left you alone like that, I really didn't mean it." He paused, taking her hands in his. "I want to make it up to you, though, because I meant what I told you . . . that I like you, and I'd really like for you to be my girl."

Ella's blue eyes widened, his face in her view somewhat blurry. His pupils were enlarged and his hands were clammy; she wasn't sure if it was the intoxication speaking or not.

She bit her lip. "I'll be honest with you, Craig, I really like you a lot, but I'd like to take things slow, you know? I don't want to be—"

"You're not," he insisted, cutting her off, and then sighed as he released her hands. They were quiet for another minute, before he continued. "Do you want to start over?"

Raising an eyebrow, Ella stared at him, wishing more than anything that they were sober. "I'd like that, but I—"

"Great," he responded, and then grinned. "Maybe we can—"

"Craig," she said firmly, stepping back. "Slowly."

The brown-haired boy ran a hand through his dark locks, but nodded. "Sure."

Ella gave him a small smile, but she honestly wished that she was home instead of there. This wasn't how she had pictured her second date with Craig, and it wasn't how she expected to spend her night. In a way, she'd blamed herself, since she was the one who had reached out to him.

She closed her eyes for a moment. She _did_ want to start over with Craig, forget that she practically spent an entire night by herself at a bar surrounded by cowboys and greasers and road-whores, but she wanted him to understand that she wasn't ready to jump into anything big.

She wasn't even sure if he'd heard her correctly.

Glancing up, Ella caught sight of a dark silhouette in the window, and she wrinkled her nose as she took Craig's arm, leading him away.

* * *

Dallas watched the scene below him with mild interest. There stood Ella Mitchell, his godforsaken tutor, and her fishy-eyed boyfriend, Craig something-or-other.

They were completely oblivious to the fact that he'd heard every ounce of their conversation from his spot propped up on the desk in his room, blowing smoke out the window.

He still couldn't believe that she'd actually shown up for a date at Buck's. Glory, the thought was just _unreal_ to him. He remembered seeing her for the first time at the bar, having not recognized her. She looked . . . different with her hair combed out and whatever shit was on her face.

The blond shook his head—dumb broad tried too hard.

Dallas watched as the two walked away, before getting into a car and driving off. He wondered about them for a brief moment, intrigued by the fact that Ella would even doll herself up for a date to a sleazy-ass roadhouse. She was dumber than she looked apparently.

Flicking his butt out the window, the hoodlum stood up, stretching a little before falling onto the bed; he was tired as fuck. He was glad that Sylvia had taken off when she had; he wanted to spend the rest of the night—morning—alone . . . without anymore interruptions.

 _In the morning, you'll be dancing with all the heartache_

 _And the treason, the fantasies of leaving_

 _But we know that, when it's over_

 _In the morning, you'll be dancing with us_

* * *

 **Feedback is always appreciated. :3**


	12. Nothing Good

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Dorothy owns "After Midnight."**

* * *

 _Whoa, set me on fire_

 _Whoa, kerosene eyes_

 _Whoa, looking right through me_

 _Selling my soul for one night_

 **November 18, 1965**

Two-Bit kept a straight face as Ponyboy attempted to help him with his schoolwork. He'd taken up Soda's advice to ask the younger boy for assistance, and the kid had been more than willing to offer his help. Still, Two-Bit worried that the kid was juggling enough with his own work and grades, knowing how often Darry harped on him.

Ponyboy had been a patient and tolerant tutor, though. Two-Bit had an idea on how to do most of the work, he was just a bit behind because he'd never bothered to put in any effort. The youngest Curtis had been helping him out with each assignment for the past four days now, meeting up in the back of the library during study hall, or going over lessons at lunch.

"Does that make sense?" Pony asked, raising his eyes from the book to meet the older teen's.

Two-Bit nodded slowly. "I think so." He chuckled. "Gee, Ponyboy, you ever think about becoming a teacher or somethin'?"

Pony rolled his eyes, glancing at the clock. "No, but you'd better hurry up. We only have ten minutes of study hall left."

Two-Bit followed his gaze. "Glory, time sure does fly when you're _not_ having fun, too."

The younger greaser glared at him. "Thanks a lot."

"Oh, don't tell me you actually enjoy tutoring me," Two-Bit replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Hell, I wouldn't, either."

Ponyboy sighed, pushing the notebook in front of his friend. "Come on, there's only a few problems left. If you get these right, there ain't no way you're gonna fail tomorrow's quiz."

The older teen tossed him a wide grin. "Gotta hand it to your faith in me, Ponyboy."

It was quiet for the next few minutes while Two-Bit worked. Ponyboy watched him carefully, a hopeful expression in his eyes. He knew the comical greaser was smart, if only he would just accommodate himself and put forth the effort. He had a way of explaining and understanding things, too, and Pony knew he could excel academically if he simply tried.

Two-Bit had made a bit of progress in just four days. Pony remembered how he'd come up to him Sunday afternoon, a bleak look in his gray orbs as he asked him for help in school. He'd told him that he'd talked to Soda, and that he was the one who'd encouraged the tutoring.

Ponyboy was awfully proud of Two-Bit; he believed that he would pass his junior and senior year, and Pony had promised that he would continue to help him the following school year, too, should the older boy need it.

"Alright," Two-Bit piped up. "Have at it."

Ponyboy pulled the notebook in his direction, eyeballing his friend's work. A smile spread across his lips after a moment. "Only one wrong. You did good!"

Two-Bit wasn't sure if the kid heard his sigh of relief.

* * *

Dallas tossed his duffel bag into the backseat of the T-Bird. He'd decided to cut out of school a little early to sneak over to the Curtis house and do his laundry. He'd gone too long without any clean clothes, and he was starting to feel uncomfortable.

It had certainly felt strange to be back in that house. Dally couldn't really recall the last time he had stepped foot through their front door. It was over two months ago now, that much he knew, but he couldn't remember _exactly_ when or what for.

Perhaps it was when he'd come to talk to the guys about Johnny and Ponyboy? That seemed nearly forever ago. He remembered dragging Ponyboy to Buck's car after the rumble, having left it at the Curtis's when he'd bailed out of the hospital, but that was all that came to mind.

Still, being there felt awfully weird; it made a cool sensation creep up the hood's spine, and he was more than glad to beat it out of there.

He had planned his day out last night; he knew when the house was usually vacated, with Soda and Darry working and the boys in school, so he figured he would be safe during lunch. Besides, he had nowhere else to go, and he sure as hell wasn't going to no laundromat, _no thank you._

Well, at least he had clean clothes once again.

Dally sighed as he drove down the road. When the fuck had his life become so drab that having clean laundry was actually something worth being happy about?

Glory, all work and no play was seriously making him soft. He had to get the fuck out and do something with himself. This school shit and obedient behavior was messing with him big time. With that thought, the hood headed to The Dingo to get some grub—he was starving.

The restaurant was practically empty when Dallas got there. A little action would have been nice, but some part of him was content with just eating and satisfying his grumbling stomach.

Sitting toward the back in an empty booth, the greaser ordered himself food. By the time it arrived, he was ready to chow it down just to get rid of that nauseous sensation and the oncoming headache he could feel.

The blond was so engrossed in eating his food that he didn't notice the other hood approaching, until he plopped down in the seat across from him. Dallas glanced up, swallowing a bite of his burger as he eyed Tim Shepard with a calculating look.

"Thought I recognized your ugly mug," the older teen stated, offering a grim smile. "What is it? School finally starting to bore you?"

Dally leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. "The fuck do you want, Tim?"

Tim's smile dissipated as he reached for a fry. "Well, I got a problem that needs dealing with."

"It ain't a secret that you got problems, man," Dallas replied sarcastically, keeping his eyes on the older boy. "I ain't interested in your—"

Tim cut him off. "Oh, you _might_ be, Winston." Having the other greaser's attention now, he continued in a lower voice. "One of my boys say they spotted runners sellin' dope in my territory. I don't know who they are or where they're coming from, but I want them the fuck outta my turf. Last thing I need is the fucking fuzz barreling down my door thinkin' I'm dealin'."

Tim Shepard had done a lot of shit, _a lot,_ but the one thing the notorious hood hadn't ventured into was drugs—of any kind—and he didn't want any of _that_ jazz coming back to him, especially when he wasn't involved in the first place.

The younger teen listened with intrigue. "Probably one of those flower children, you know, with all this hippie bullshit goin' on." He leaned forward. "So, what's the problem? Can't get none of your boys to catch them and send a message? They gotta have a dealer . . ."

"My best ain't available, and I ain't trustin' the fuckin' scouts with this job, either," came the harsh response. "I got Ricky Easton meetin' up with two of these clowns tonight, and I need another man on the job." He eyed the blond closely. "You in, or has this new lifestyle of yours softened your ass up too much?" And then he smirked for good measure. "Pussy."

Dallas glared, jaw clenched. He knew half of Tim's men landed themselves in the cooler a few weeks back, right after Curly Shepard and a few of the others held up a liquor store and got a sentence of six months. Stupid kids. Still, Dallas had been starved of action, and now an offer from Shepard was right in his face.

The thought of getting caught briefed his mind for a split second, and he knew he would end up behind bars for five years if he blew his bargain. But, on the other hand, it had been _so fucking long_ since he'd done anything worthwhile, and he could feel his blood pumping at the thought of joining Shepard and accepting his offer.

"What time we talkin'?"

* * *

Ella grinned as an arm draped around her waist, which was followed by a light kiss on her cheek. She turned to face Craig, a spark in her eyes.

"Miss me?" he whispered, offering a smile of his own.

The girl chuckled, pulling away from him. "Depends. Did you miss me?"

"When don't I?" he replied, pulling her back toward him.

The couple had spent the week together almost exclusively, and Ella was surprised that he had been true to their agreement—to take things slow. He liked to kiss her cheek quite a lot, and Ella had a feeling that he was hinting for an actual kiss. Still, though, he never pushed her for anything.

They'd been out to dinner Tuesday night after her shift, and they'd gone to the movies Wednesday evening. Other than that, the two had spent most of their time in school together, Craig even joining Ella in the library for lunch Monday afternoon, before he'd invited her to accompany him with his friends.

At first, Ella had been slightly nervous, but she realized that Craig's crowd wasn't awful. She easily recognized Fred and Will, and their girls, Audrey and Donna, from their date at Buck's. She didn't know the others, except for George Clayton. Craig's other friend, Kevin Rogers, had been introduced to her Tuesday.

"You busy tonight?" Craig asked, pulling the girl from her thoughts.

She shook her head. "Nope."

Ella was enjoying her freedom. She hadn't seen Dallas Winston since Friday night, and she was glad that she didn't have to tutor him. She figured that the hood would come to her if he wanted to be bothered—she wasn't going anywhere near him. He could go to hell for all she cared.

"That makes two of us," Craig continued, sounding eager. "Want to do something?"

The brown-haired girl shrugged. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, there's a party—"

"Not on a school night."

She didn't miss his sigh. Craig had told her that he thought she was a little uptight, but he'd smiled at her and told her that he liked it. Still, it made her feel weird, like she wasn't doing anything for him, or like she was disappointing him. Ella was a girl who stuck to her guns, though, and even though Craig had made her feel bad, she wouldn't cave.

She glanced up at him. "How about we do something different, and if there's a party or something over the weekend, we could go then . . . if you want."

Craig grinned, reaching for her hand. "Sure thing. Actually, I think George's parents are going away for work in a few weeks, or some time around Christmas, so he was considering . . ."

Ella tuned him out, her lips turning in a frown. Craig hadn't _even_ thought of what they could do that night, instead only concentrating on a party with his friends. She wondered if she was being unfair or not, and decided to just let things play out.

"El?" Craig called, stepping in front of her. "You listening?"

"Yeah," she answered, feigning a grin. "I was just thinking that a . . . party would be fun."

"Atta girl," he replied, taking her hand again as they began walking. "It _will_ be fun. But anyway, what did you want to do tonight again?"

* * *

Ponyboy closed his locker, turning around before nearly bumping right into Cherry Valance. His face and ears turned red, eyes widening in shock, but before he could say anything, the red-head beat him to it, a small smile on her lips.

"Sorry, I should have said something," she said lightly. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Ponyboy stared at the girl for a minute, the shock wearing off. "I'm fine, how are you? You stay after school for a club or something?"

Cherry chuckled. "No, cheerleading practice, you know, for the Thanksgiving game next week . . ."

"Oh, yeah," he replied, remembering. "Glory, I nearly forgot about that."

The greaser knew Cherry Valance wouldn't risk her reputation talking to him during the school day, so she must have figured after hours would be safe for the both of them. Still, he wondered what she could want, not that he minded talking to her.

He looked at her, then. "So, um—"

"Right," she said, shaking her head, and stopped walking. "Listen, Ponyboy, I don't want to get involved in your business, but Randy mentioned that George Clayton was bothering you, and I just wanted to make sure you were alright." She sighed. "I know he was friends with Bob, but—"

The younger boy cut her off. "It's fine, really.

Cherry's green eyes met his. "Pony—"

"Really," he insisted, his voice firm. "There's nothing going on with George. He just said some things, and we had an argument. That's it."

The girl nodded, but she wasn't buying it. Still, she knew there was nothing she could really do; Pony would be upset if she attempted to force herself into his problems, and George was too liked by all the staff and students to have his name blackened.

She would have to figure something out while being discreet about it.

As the two exited the building together, a lone figure watched them, having heard every word of their conversation.

* * *

Dallas stood on the corner of Sutton, awaiting his ride. It was nearing eleven thirty, and Tim told him he and Ricky would be picking him up right around then. The hood waited in the shadows, eyes searching for any sign of Shepard's car.

 _Where in the fuck—_ Never mind, he thought, stepping into the light as Shepard rolled to a stop. Ricky Easton sat in the passenger seat, but with one look, he stepped out and hopped in the back, allowing Dallas up front.

Tim glanced at him with a smirk. "Didn't think you'd actually show."

"I said I would be here, didn't I?"

The older hood nodded. "Sure. So, here's the deal . . . Ricky is gonna meet up with these two guys, make like he's purchasing some of their shit, and then you an' me are—"

"Are gonna give'em a _message_ , yeah, yeah," the blond finished, lighting up a cigarette and cracking the window. "You told me already."

Tim scowled. "Just makin' sure you know the drill."

Dallas furrowed his brows. "When ain't ya been able to count on me, huh? I may not be part of your fuckin' gang, but I've always come through when you've needed me."

"Yeah, well—"

"I ain't your fuckin' kid brother, Tim."

The two were silent after that, and from the back, Ricky watched the two of them with interest. He'd never met Dallas Winston personally, but he'd heard of him. Ricky was still new to Shepard's gang, but he was old enough to know how things worked—this wasn't his first gang. Nobody really knew Ricky, either, which was why Tim had asked him to bait the two who were selling dope on his turf.

Ten minutes later, Tim pulled the car over and cut the engine, glancing at Ricky through the rear-view mirror. "Okay, kid, you know what to do."

Ricky nodded and stepped out of the vehicle, closing the door as softly as he could. Tim had parked a bit back so he didn't look suspicious. He and Dallas watched the seventeen-year-old make his way across the street and down the end of the road, right beside an alley.

"So, we're just gonna wait, then," Dally clarified, leaning back in the seat. "Terrific."

Tim's blue eyes shifted toward him. "You got a problem with that? 'Sides, you did one hell of a good job waiting for little Sylvia, huh? Heard you picked her up last weekend."

The towheaded hood shot him a look. He hadn't seen Sylvia since their chat at the party last Friday, and he wasn't aiming to again. Still, Shepard didn't need to know the difference; it didn't matter what he and his ex-girlfriend talked about, Tim could think what he wanted.

"She's the one who came to me, _Timmy,_ " he responded sardonically. "Don't see no girls waiting around for the likes of you."

Tim gritted his teeth. "Fuck off, Winston."

The blond's lips curved into a smirk.

* * *

Craig looked down at Ella, who was leaning into his side, as they walked across the lot to his car. "So, did you have fun tonight?"

The girl glanced up at him tiredly. "I did, but I'm sure my feet are gonna be killing me tomorrow." A soft sigh. "Glory, I hope I'm awake enough to even get ready for school."

Her date chuckled, placing a kiss against her cheek. "Well, I certainly enjoyed myself."

Ella offered him a genuine, though sleepy, smile. "Me, too. But golly am I beat."

Coming to a stop, Craig stepped in front of her, taking her hands in his, a twinkle in his brown orbs. He stared at her for a moment, before placing his hand against her cheek, feeling the soft skin. Ella's eyes were wide, and before Craig's lips could meet hers, she turned away, causing him to catch her cheek.

She bit her lip, pulling back. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"It's fine," he said, interrupting her. "You want to take things slow, right?"

Ella nodded wearily. "Really, Craig, I like you a lot—"

"I said it's fine," he stated, firmer that time. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. "Gee, I didn't mean to sound like that, El. I suppose I'm a little tired myself."

The brown-haired girl merely stared, taken back by her date's tone. He usually didn't get stern with her, being so laid-back and all, but she figured that he _was_ just tired, like her. They had went to one of the clubs downtown and spent the last few hours dancing; Craig had proposed the idea, and Ella had been excited to go.

He suddenly grinned at her. "How about something sweet before I take you home?"

Ella's brow raised in curiosity. Craig liked getting her little gifts, like candies, or the charm bracelet he had surprised her with on Monday to make up for his mishap last Friday. He'd even shown up at her house with a single rose Tuesday night before they'd gone to dinner.

"Craig," she said, a slight curve in her lips, "you don't—"

"But I do," he countered, playfully pulling her toward the car. "Just a little something to end our date."

Ella watched him while he drove. She was always appreciative of the things Craig did for her, but there were times when she thought it was a little much. Still, she really liked him, and he made her happy; she just wished their relationship could further form between themselves.

A few minutes later, Craig pulled into the one and only all night convenient store, which was a little ways down off of Sutton. He offered her a grin before making his way out of the car and into the store, the lights from inside illuminating the lot.

Ella looked to her right, staring absently out the window. It was dark on her side of the vehicle, and she could barely make out the side alley on the next block. With a soft sigh, she leaned back comfortably in the seat, her thoughts drifting to Craig. Her mother had finally met him Tuesday night and seemed to like him enough.

Craig had been polite and respectful, and Frances had simply given her daughter a wink as the couple headed out. She had spent the early evening hours hearing all about the boy that her daughter so fancied, an amused expression planted on her face as she listened. Ella had been relieved to know that her mother honestly liked Craig.

Glancing at the clock, Ella realized that it was past midnight, and she pursed her lips. Lord, was she going to be half dead at school that day. Well, if anything, she was glad it was Friday; too bad she had to work until closing, though.

It was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

The sirens blared as Dallas ran like a bat outta hell. Stupid fucking plan of Shepard's had gone to shit, landing all three of them in one hell of a mess. Apparently, they had been set up, and one of the stupid motherfuckers had been wielding a gun.

Everything happened so rapidly that Dallas wasn't sure what he saw. First, Easton was getting his ass kicked, then he and Shepard intervened. Next thing he knew, all five of them got into it before the one who Shepard knocked down pulled out a gun and cocked it, his finger on the trigger as he pointed it at each of them in a frenzy.

After that, everything was a blur.

Ricky—the stupid fuck—whipped out his blade, charging at the second clown, which caused the guy with the gun to pull the trigger. Dally was sure half the downtown portion of the east side had heard it, and that's when all three of them had split. Tim had told him to get outta there before the cops showed up and hauled his ass in, and Dallas knew his bargain would be annulled if he was caught.

He stayed in the shadows as he sprinted away from the sirens, wondering if Shepard and his stupid ass rookie got away. He'd seen them running toward the car, before the sound of tires peeling out alerted him that they had taken off. Well, the best the older hood could do was hope he could get away without being too conspicuous, but . . . fat chance there.

At least he had enough brains to keep the headlights off.

Dally came to a halt as he saw a vehicle parked outside the convenient store in front of himself. He was able to make out a person inside, and he ground his teeth, swearing in his mind. The sirens were getting louder behind him, so he made up his mind quickly, ready to take his chances.

When he looked up again, he saw the girl staring back at him, an obvious shocked expression veiling her features. Well, son-of-a-bitch, it was Ella Mitchell; he could just barely see her face in the window as her eyes stayed fixed on his figure.

Darting across the street, Dallas headed for the alley, moving back in the shadows as he hid behind a dumpster, catching his breath.

It was only moments later that the cops sped down the road, causing the teen to tense up, the flashing lights brightening up the alley for a few brief seconds. A few minutes later, Dallas released the breath he'd been holding, stepping away from the shadows and eyeing his surroundings carefully. When he realized the coast was clear, he took off back in the opposite direction, cutting through another alley and heading toward—

He couldn't go to Buck's. He was certain the fuzz would go searching for him there, and he didn't want to deal with them. He'd have to find a place to spend the rest of the morning hours until he headed off to that hell-hole known as school.

Besides, Ella Mitchell had seen him, and he was going to make sure that dope didn't open her mouth to anyone about what she'd witnessed.

 _Nothing good comes after midnight_

 _Ooooh!_

 _When you play the devil's game_

 _Ooooh, after midnight_

* * *

 **Thank you for all the lovely comments and reviews! :3**


	13. One You Up

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Christina Grimmie owns "Shrug."**

* * *

 _Y'Play these little games, such a joke_

 _Ain't even tuned into your show_

 _Oh you think your claims are made of gold_

 _But deep down everybody knows_

 **November 23, 1965**

Ella sighed as she made her way into the school. Her head was pounding, and she felt downright awful, having been sick since Sunday. She'd taken Monday off, but since Tuesday was the only full day that week, the teen decided to suck it up and go. At least she would be able to _somewhat_ enjoy the four and a half day Thanksgiving break.

She hadn't seen Craig since Friday in school, having called him over the weekend to let him know that she'd caught a bug. He'd asked her if she wanted him to come over, or if she needed anything, but Ella had rejected kindly, telling him she'd see him during the week.

Oh, she missed him, too, and she wondered if he was thinking about her at all; he hadn't called her last night like he'd promised, and the girl was too tired to even pick up the phone, or complain. She figured that she had most likely gotten the bug from someone at the club Thursday night.

She just wished there was something to make her feel better.

The sight of a figure leaning against her locker perked her up, and Ella thought that it might be Craig, her heart fluttering a bit as she took quickened steps forward. Upon getting closer, though, she realized that the person wasn't Craig at all, and just when she thought nothing could make her feel worse than she already did, something had.

There stood Dallas Winston, hands shoved in his pockets and an apathetic look on his face, like he was attempting to conceal something from her. Ella wasn't in the mood to argue with the hood, though, blankly staring up at him through puffy eyes.

He took one look at her, before making a face. "Spend the weekend partying or somethin'?"

The brown-haired girl blinked. "What do you want, Dallas?"

She desperately wished he would leave, remembering the last official time she'd seen him. He'd been running away from police sirens, and Ella knew that the hood had been up to more than mundane mischief that night.

The thought caused her to shiver slightly.

The greaser raised a brow at the use of his name, which was said so casually. "I want you to meet me out in the lot at lunch."

"Why?"

Dallas sneered. "Don't ask questions, girl." He began walking away, not even bothering to look back at her. "Just be there."

Ella watched after him with a curious gaze, wondering what in the almighty universe Dallas Winston could want with her, especially after the last time they'd been together. Sure, she was over it now, but it didn't stop the anger she'd felt toward him.

Who was he to boss her around?

Still, she _was_ curious as to what he wanted, and she decided that she was going to find out, whether or not it went against her better judgment.

* * *

It wasn't even third period when Ponyboy found himself sitting in the office waiting for Darry to come and pick him up. Hanging his head a little, the young teen wondered how angry his older brother was going to be when he found out what happened.

Pony was sure he would have a cow, especially when it was only several weeks ago that the _incident_ had taken place. Still, being suspended wasn't all that bad, especially since the next day was only a half school day before Thanksgiving break.

The only thing that was actually bothering Ponyboy was the fact that Darry was going to find out about his issues with George Clayton. He internally kicked himself; it wasn't fair. George hadn't even been suspended, and he'd been the one who had initiated the whole fight to begin with!

The sound of the door creaking open caused the teen to sit up, his eyes shifting to his side at the sight of Darry walking in, looking more stressed than usual. He eyed his youngest brother for a second, a frown on his lips, before making his way over to the secretary to sign him out.

Great, Pony thought sarcastically, nostrils flaring. This is exactly what he needed. Darry was gonna be mad for sure, and there was nothing he could say or do to smooth things over. He just hoped that they wouldn't go back to the way they used to be.

Darry's work boots appeared in his vision, causing him to look up nervously. "Come on."

The younger boy stood up slowly, following Darry outside to his truck. Nothing was said between the two of them, and Pony was left to wonder what exactly Mr. Davis had told his brother on the phone.

Sticking the key in the ignition, Darry started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. He glanced at Ponyboy every few seconds, before eventually sighing. Pony looked over at him, too, furrowing his eyebrows a little as he waited for whatever he was going to say.

"I thought we were over this," Darry stated in a firm tone, keeping his focus on the road ahead. "You know, I don't get it, Ponyboy. You were doin' just fine, and now this?" He shook his head. "What am I gonna do with you, huh?"

The younger teen wrinkled his nose. "Maybe try asking me what happened first?"

The dark-haired boy pursed his lips. "I already heard the scoop from Mr. Davis. What I don't get is why you—"

"Why I what?" Ponyboy retorted, jerking around in the passenger seat. "Hit him?"

Darry sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stopped at a red light. He didn't want to yell at his youngest brother; they'd promised Soda they wouldn't fight anymore. Darry just simply wanted to know what was going on, or wrong, rather.

"Fine," he responded, gentler that time. "What happened, Pony?"

The younger boy chewed his lip for a moment, seemingly in thought. It wasn't until the truck was moving again that he spoke, his voice coming out hush-like.

"George Clayton and his buddies were sayin' things about Johnny," he admitted. "They've been doing it for a while now, well, since I came back in October." A sigh. "Today, George shoved me in the hall, and I guess I just couldn't take it, Darry, so I hit him."

Darry stole a sharp glance at his kid brother. "Well, you can't go around beating on people because they insulted your friend, Ponyboy." At the teen's expression of bewilderment, he continued. "I know you only meant to defend Johnny, and that's fine an' all, but you gotta learn to not let things get to you, know what I'm sayin', kiddo?"

"Sure."

"You know, the only reason you're suspended and that other kid ain't is because you hit him first," Darry explained as they pulled up in front of the house.

Pony looked at him oddly. "What's your point, Darry?"

The older boy smiled. "There are ways to get back at people other than using your fists."

The thought processed in the younger teen's mind as he eyed his brother for a second, a small grin of his own spreading across his lips. He'd thought Darry would be angrier than this, lash out at him or something, but certainly not this.

"Thanks, Dar," he replied, climbing out of the truck. "I'll keep that in mind when I _don't_ plan on getting in trouble."

The older boy chuckled. "Yeah, you do that, little brother." And then he looked at him seriously for a minute. "I would have done that same thing, though."

Ponyboy's brows raised at this. "Why'd you tell me about—"

"That's what Dad told me once."

As Pony watched his older brother pull away, he was left with a whole new outlook of him, a lighter feeling in his stomach than before.

Sometimes, it's better to walk away in the end, no matter how much it hurts to do so. There were other ways he could deal with George Clayton and his buddies.

The teen grinned at the thought; their father had been a wise man, and his wisdom had definitely shed onto his oldest son, which was now Ponyboy's.

* * *

"You hear 'bout Ponyboy?" Steve questioned, shoving some books into his locker as he glanced at Two-Bit.

The older teen nodded, a sly grin plastered on his lips. "Sure did. Ol' Darry had to come and get him this morning. I saw the whole thing, you know. I was there, ready to back the kid up if he needed it, but he was doin' mighty fine on his own, well, until Mr. Connelly broke it up."

Steve raised a dark brow. "Who was giving him trouble?"

"George Clayton."

The younger teen thought for a moment, his features contorted in concentration as he tried to picture a face to the name. He knew he'd heard of George Clayton before, but he couldn't remember from where. They were in the same grade, that was for certain, but he couldn't recall where they'd meant, and Steve was sure they'd meant at some point.

Two-Bit was watching his buddy carefully. "Them old wheels turning up there or what?"

"Oh, shove off," the dark-haired greaser replied playfully. "Why in the hell would Clayton be hassling the kid? They ain't even in the same grade."

Two-Bit shrugged. "When the hell did grade ever matter?"

"Never, just wondering," Steve answered, slamming the locker closed. "I don't know what's been goin' on, but even Soda says he thinks something is wrong with Ponyboy."

The older boy's lips turned into a frown, all goofiness absent. "Well, how about we find out, huh? The kid ain't gonna be in school, so we can do some sniffin' around until we find something." He suddenly grinned. "Say now, is Mr. George Clayton a super Soc or what?"

Steve's eyes met his. "Pretty sure he is."

"Well, then, I know just the little gal we're gonna pay a visit to."

The younger teen merely stared at his buddy for a second. He knew exactly who he'd been referring to, and the thought alone had caused him to start thinking. Steve remembered two months earlier when Cherry whatever-her-last-name-was had shown up in her tuff Stingray offering to be a spy for them just a few days before the rumble.

He didn't trust that broad, and he certainly didn't like her. Besides, loyalty was one of Steve's main characteristics, and he didn't care for those who went against their own so willingly. For all he knew, Cherry could have been playing both sides, which he was sure she had been.

Still, the thought of paying her a visit _did_ spark his interest, and if she had any insight into George Clayton bothering Ponyboy, then he was all for having a little "chat" with her.

Ever since the incident with Ponyboy and Johnny, Steve Randle's bitterness toward the Socs had only intensified. He wasn't even sure if that was possible, given how much he'd despised them before, but now, he was ready for a good fight.

He nodded at Two-Bit. "Dally hear about the kid?"

The older teen nodded. "Sure did. Too bad he won't be joining us for lunch, though. Said he had to take care of something."

Steve rolled his eyes. Whatever Dallas Winston had to take care of didn't interest him at the moment, but it didn't stop him from wondering.

* * *

Dallas blew out a perfect smoke ring, watching as it dissipated in the air in front of himself. His eyes shifted around the parking lot as he waited for Ella Mitchell to arrive. He really wasn't looking forward to speaking with the broad, but this was something that needed taking care of.

In fact, Dallas had been searching for her since last Friday, but he hadn't seen her. He even went to her job looking for her both Saturday and Sunday, and then he'd learned that she hadn't come to school on Monday. By then, he'd been pissed enough that he decided right then and there that he would wait for her Tuesday morning, and if she didn't show up, he would go straight to her house.

Fuck, he should've just done that in the beginning; it would have saved him a whole lot of trouble. That's all the dumb broad was—trouble with a capital T.

All he really wanted was to make sure the dope hadn't opened her mouth to anyone—especially her fucking boyfriend—about what happened Thursday night. It wasn't like she could actually _prove_ anything, but Dallas was a thorough person, and he'd never liked loose ends, which was what Ella had become the moment she'd witnessed him running from the cops.

Oh, the damn story had made the fucking papers, alright. The fuzz had been hunting him down, too, but Dallas had been smart, covered himself real good. When they found him Friday after school, he'd spun a tale that he'd been at his father's place. That dumb fuck had been too shit-faced to know the difference, and it wasn't like _he_ ever knew what his son was up to anyway.

Dallas couldn't tell the fuzz that he was bunking at Buck's, or that he was working for the sleazy cowboy as compensation, either, no fucking way.

The cops had bought his story, but only because they had no other leads, as far as he knew. Ol' Shepard and his rookie boy had gotten away, and it wasn't like the other guys would rat them out, either. They would end up fucking themselves over if they had, so that only left Ella fucking Mitchell.

And she was Dallas's problem to clean up.

Speaking of the dope, Dallas spotted her making her way out of the building, eyes searching for him, lips pulled into a thin line. He figured that she wasn't thrilled about seeing him, either, but he had to give credit where it was due.

At least she was doing what he'd wanted.

She walked over to him, crossing her thin arms across her chest as she looked up, staring at him expectantly, as if she were too good to speak first.

Crushing the cigarette beneath the heel of his boot, the hood eyed her coolly. "Ain't seen ya around in a while."

Ella raised an eyebrow, expression remaining firm. "What do you want?"

The words came out vehemently, but that didn't bother Dallas in the least. "We gotta talk, you and me, girl." At her silence, he continued, seeing the curiosity in her blue orbs. "Thursday night—"

Before he could finish, she interrupted. "Oh, _that_. You mean your little getaway from the cops, right?" She rolled her eyes. "I don't care about what you do outside of school. And if you think I'm going to tell anyone . . . don't you think I would have done it already?"

Dallas's eyes were hardening, but he had to admit, the dope was somewhat smart. At least he didn't have to stand there and explain himself; she had figured it out already, which made his job a lot easier and his time with her shortened. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He grinned wickedly. "You wouldn't . . . if you know what's good for you, sweets."

At first, she looked appalled, then she was pissed. "You threatening me, Winston?" She took a brave step forward. "I ain't afraid of you."

Oh, but she _was_ , and he could see it in her eyes; she wasn't a very good liar, but her actions could pass for being believable. _Almost_. But Dallas had always been a remarkable liar himself, and he could sense fear a mile away.

Pushing himself off of the car, the blond towered over her, not once breaking their gaze. "Aren't you?"

And as predicted, she recoiled back, voice coming out small. "What do you want, then?"

Dallas smiled, but it wasn't friendly, not at all. "Nothin', sweets. Seems you already took care of every thing." And then, he moved forward, thumb brushing her jaw as he leaned beside her ear. "And let's keep it that way, yeah?"

Ella stood paralyzed for a moment, but in that moment, the hood had already moved away, leaving her standing there alone, heart drumming against her chest. Sometimes, she didn't understand the greaser's games, or why he did the things he did.

And she was sure she would never actually be able to.

From the side of the school, across the lot, Craig had watched the exchange, eyes narrowed into slits and a vexed expression veiling his features. He had plans to find out what was going on between his girlfriend and Winston.

* * *

Cherry walked beside Marcia as the two headed back inside the school. Marcia had been talking about the game Thursday when the pair came to an abrupt stop a few feet from Cherry's locker. There stood Two-Bit Mathews and Steve Randle, two boys that Cherry recognized immediately.

Marcia met her worried gaze, but the pair continued forward, the darker haired girl one step behind her friend. Besides, Cherry was more familiar with the two greasers—Marcia was only friendly with Two-Bit, but she was sure that night had been forgotten the moment Bob Sheldon was killed by Johnny Cade two months ago.

Cherry, cool and collected as always, spoke first. "Two-Bit, how are you?" She eyed Steve carefully, and if she was nervous, she sure didn't show it.

"Cherry," he replied evenly, nodding once to Marcia. "Steve and I came to talk to ya about a guy named George Clayton. Know him?"

The red-head's expression shifted slightly. "George, yes—"

Steve stepped forward at that precise moment, not one for patience. "You tell him to keep away from Ponyboy Curtis, or we'll be lookin' for him, savvy?"

"Wait, Ponyboy?" Cherry's green eyes widened. "What's happened? Is he alright?"

Two-Bit looked her over slowly, registering her words. "Yeah, he's fine. Know somethin' we don't?"

The girl sighed, Marcia offering a look of sympathy. "I talked to Randy a few days ago. He mentioned that George and a few of his friends were giving Ponyboy a rough time, so I talked to him about it." Her eyes maneuvered between them. "Ponyboy told me that he and George only had a minor falling out, that George was saying things, but he wouldn't let on, so I asked Randy to talk with George—"

Steve snorted. "Swell job there."

"I suppose it didn't go over well," Cherry finished, lowering her head. "I just wanted to help—"

"Well you sure as hell didn't!" Steve snapped. "You just give Clayton the message."

Cherry pursed her lips, attempting to retain her cool, but she'd barely registered Marcia's hand on her upper arm where the girl was trying to comfort her. She watched as both Two-Bit and Steve took their leave, and she turned back to her friend, eyes glassy.

"I thought I was helping," she commented quietly. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Marcia merely stared at her, a thought crossing her mind. "I'll talk to Randy and find out what he said to George." She shook her head, dark hair shifting off her shoulders. "Don't blame yourself, Cherry, it wasn't your fault."

"Try telling that to them." She nodded her chin in the direction Two-Bit and Steve had gone. "I thought that stupid rumble would stop all of this."

"So did I." Marcia sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. It seemed like no matter how much anyone attempted to fix things, something always backfired for either side.

Somebody always had to be better, and she'd had enough.

* * *

Ella finished cleaning the floor at the store later that evening. Placing the mop back in the closet, the girl wiped the sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. Glory, it was sure warm in that place since Jan turned the heat up.

She fancied stepping outside for some fresh air to cool herself off, but the sound of the bell chiming changed her mind quickly. With a sigh, Ella ran her palms over her skirt as she made her way out to the front. Since Jan had left, she was the only one on until closing.

"El?" came a familiar voice, causing the teen's heart to beat a little faster. She poked her head around the aisle, meeting Craig's stare.

"Hey," she replied as he came over to place a kiss against her cheek.

They'd barely had a chance to see each other that day, and with Ella explaining that she had something to take care of during lunch, it had only made their time together even shorter. Still, Ella was glad that he had agreed to pick her up from work that night; he'd wanted to take her out again, but she wasn't sure about going anywhere since she'd been feeling awful with her cold.

"I've missed you," he commented, pulling away to give her a grin. "You know, it was actually quite boring without you at lunch."

The girl chuckled. "I doubt that, what with Kevin to keep you company?"

Craig's fingers brushed her cheek. "Well, Kevin isn't _you_ , now is he?" At that moment, he began to lean in, but Ella was quick to turn her head.

"I don't want you catching my cold," she stated quickly, feigning a smile and changing the subject as she headed toward the counter. "Besides, I'll be in school tomorrow—"

"It's a half day," he said, raising an eyebrow slyly. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could . . . do something else?"

Ella's expression turned a bit. "You mean . . . ditch?"

He nodded. "Yeah, come on, El, it'll be fun." He reached for her hand. "It's Thanksgiving break and, well, you ditched me for Winston today anyway."

The girl retreated her hand, scowling. "I did _not_ ditch you for Dallas Winston. He asked me to meet him earlier today because he wanted to talk about something."

Craig sighed. "Fine, whatever. We can just go to school and do something afterward, if that will make you feel better." He looked at her, eyes fixed. "So, what _did_ Winston want to talk about?"

Ella's brows pulled together skeptically as she wondered why Craig was acting like this. Usually, he was so sweet to her, and they always had a good time. She wondered for a moment if it was her, if she was the one acting differently, and then blamed it on her cold.

She turned back to her boyfriend. "Nothing really, it was about tutoring."

"You haven't helped him with anything in nearly two weeks," Craig replied with a frown. He looked at her, then, brown eyes softening. "Look, El, I worry about you with him."

"I know he's—"

"No," Craig bit out, taking her hand again. "It's not just him, it's his friends, you know, the guys he runs around with . . ."

Ella stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. "I don't really know—"

"Ponyboy Curtis," he stated, cutting her off again. "He pulled a blade on George today right before third period, claiming that George shoved him or something." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "One of the teachers intervened, but not before Curtis punched George. He was suspended for it."

Ella's hand covered her mouth, not wanting to believe Craig's words. She remembered speaking to the younger boy twice, and he'd seemed so polite and nice; something wasn't right with that story, she was certain of it. Then again, she didn't really _know_ Ponyboy Curtis, either, and he _had_ been involved in that murder case alongside Dallas Winston two months ago.

"I didn't know that," she said softly, biting the inside of her cheek.

Craig's hold only tightened. "Just _please_ stay away from Winston."

She nodded skeptically.

And then, as if nothing happened, Craig's demeanor changed as he grinned at her. "So, about tomorrow, then . . ."

 _They be standin' 'round tryin'a one you up_

 _Ya sensing every lie on the tip of their tongue_

 _When you had enough gotta hit em wit de shrug like_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for all the comments and reviews. It's always appreciated! :3**


	14. Trouble

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Creedence Clearwater Revival owns "Bad Moon Rising."**

* * *

 _I see a bad moon a-rising_

 _I see trouble on the way_

 **December 1, 1965**

Dallas sat still, idly watching as Two-Bit and Ponyboy went over the former's English homework. He'd found out a week ago that the kid had been tutoring the older greaser to help him work out a deal with ol' Davis—something involving graduating or whatever.

The towheaded teen never thought he'd live to see the day where Two-Bit Mathews would be a high school graduate, but then again, he never thought _he_ would make it to the twelfth grade, either. But here he was, on his way to earning his diploma based on a bargain to avoid a five year prison sentence.

"I think you'll pass," Pony said, handing the essay back to Two-Bit. "Honestly, I can't find anything wrong with it."

The older teen nodded. "Thanks a lot, Ponyboy. I'll be sure to let ol' Warren know that you're one hell of a tutor when I pass her class."

Pony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you do that."

Dallas eyed them with a wolfish smile. "Hey, Pony, ever think 'bout becoming a teacher?"

"That's what I said!" Two-Bit grinned, nudging the youngest member of their group. "He'd do a mighty fine job, hell, he even has the patience most of these ones lack."

Ponyboy blushed at the compliment, remembering his English theme. He'd been taking Mr. Syme's advice about looking into publishing companies, but he hadn't told either of his brothers or the gang about it yet. He was hoping to surprise them if his theme was even accepted. Glory, he couldn't begin to imagine the shock on their faces if it was . . .

Still, he knew that Two-Bit was right about him being a decent tutor; perhaps he would go to school to become a teacher, an English one at that. Boy howdy, wouldn't that be something, he thought. At least he knew one thing that was certain . . . Two-Bit had definitely improved since they'd first started their tutoring sessions.

Ponyboy was sure the oldest greaser in their group would pass with flying colors if he kept it up. All he needed was to get through this year, and then next year, and he would be able to graduate.

At that moment, the bell rang, and the three stood up to head to their next class, save for Dallas, who had been given a slip in homeroom to speak with Mrs. Philips about some-bullshit-or-another in the guidance office.

The hood wondered what she wanted this time.

* * *

Ella waited quietly in Mrs. Philip's office, her head pounding. She was certain that she was suffering a hangover, since Craig had taken her out drinking last night. Strangely, even though she'd been having a good time in the beginning, the teen found that she was no longer enjoying herself.

Craig made her feel good, though. He noticed her, took an interest in her, and paid attention to her in a way that she wasn't used to. Still, he'd been getting her into trouble lately, and just last night, her mother had put her foot down.

Ella had skipped out on school last Wednesday to hangout with Craig and a few friends. They hadn't done anything real worthwhile, just simply went to the movies, drove around town, and then went out for lunch, before wasting the rest of the day.

After that, they'd gone to a party Saturday night and Monday night, right after she closed up the store, and last night, Craig had talked her into going out drinking.

The brown-haired girl was seriously regretting that choice. It was when she'd come home at nearly two in the morning to face her mother, who had given her a good piece of her mind, before telling her she didn't care how awful she felt—she would be attending school no matter what.

So here she was, sitting in Mrs. Philip's office with one hell of a hangover, wondering what on earth the counselor could want with her. Oh, she had an inclination as to _who_ this visit was about—it wouldn't be the first time—but it wasn't until the blond-headed hood stepped into the office that her suspicions were confirmed.

He glanced at her, before glaring. Good, she thought bitterly, she didn't want to see him, either. She had been avoiding him as much as she could since Craig had warned her about him and his friends, and it wasn't until they'd returned to school on Monday that the story involving Ponyboy Curtis and George Clayton had began circulating, since the former had come back from suspension.

Still, Ella couldn't bring herself to fully believe what Craig had told her, not that she would ever tell him that, no way.

The sound of Dallas's boots scuffing across the floor jolted her from her thoughts, and she eyed him suspiciously as he sat in the seat beside her.

"What are we here for?" he questioned, a scowl on his face.

Ella shrugged, leaning away from him. She recalled their last encounter, where he'd practically threatened her out in the parking lot during lunch last week. She would never admit it aloud, but the damn greaser had frightened her.

Dallas glanced at her, but he wasn't able to say anything, for Mrs. Philips entered then, closing the door behind herself. Once she was seated at her desk, she offered a smile to the two of them, which had only been returned with a blank expression and a menacing stare.

The woman pulled out a file, her eyes moving across some papers as she read to herself quickly, before turning her attention back to the pair in front of herself.

"I've been informed that you're failing both English and math," she revealed, eyes focused on Dallas curious-like. "Would you like to tell me what's going on?"

Dallas simply glared. He couldn't exactly tell the woman that he and Ella had a little "falling out," which had led to their non-existent tutoring sessions. He didn't have an excuse, either, so he remained silent, hoping Dopey would answer instead.

The room remained quiet, though, and Dallas's eyes shifted slowly over to the girl beside himself, wondering why she wasn't saying anything like she'd done the last time. As he stared at her for only a moment, he noticed how she was pressed up against the far side of the chair, her face hidden behind her mane of hair, as if his very presence repulsed her.

Well, that was just fine and dandy with him, except for the fact that the fucking counselor was waiting for an answer—one he wasn't going to provide.

"Mr. Winston?"

The blond shot the older woman a look, eyes like two ice chips, begging her to start with him. Glory, he really disliked counselors; all they wanted was to get into his business, attempt to teach him the better ways of life, before conforming him, and then thinking they'd done something good for society.

Yeah-fucking-right.

Finally, Dopey spoke up, sounding like she was going to be sick. "We haven't been meeting up for any of the sessions. Things— our schedules haven't been able to coincide."

Mrs. Philips appeared like she didn't quite believe that story, but whether she honestly did or didn't, she hadn't said. Instead, she nodded in a slow manner, glancing back down at the file on her desk as she shifted her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Ella's teeth were grinding hard against each other; she felt disgusted that she had stuck up for Winston yet again. She knew she didn't like him, although she didn't exactly hate him, but still . . . He angered her enough that he _deserved_ her hate. She was feeling incredibly sick, though, and she wanted nothing more than to leave.

"Would it be beneficial for the both of you if a different student assisted?" Mrs. Philips inquired, tapping a fingernail upon her desk, a lethargic expression on her face.

So that's what this whole thing was about, Ella noted dully. Of course, without her help, Winston had fallen back, but it was still his own fault. She was pretty sure he wanted to stay away from her as much as she wanted to remove him from her life.

The teen considered that for a brief second, but all thoughts of agreeing were cut short when the hood replied, the tone of his voice coming out as if he were speaking through his teeth. Ella knew from spending enough time with him that he was aggravated—he deemed this a waste of time, much like the tutoring in general.

"No need to," he said. "We'll take care of it."

Mrs. Philip's eyes flickered over to Ella, who merely nodded, wanting nothing more than to end this meeting right then and there. Dallas could _take care_ of whatever he wanted, but she refused to help him unless he apologized to her, which she was sure would _never_ happen.

And that was just fine with her.

With a sigh, the woman wrote something on a sticky note, before placing it inside of the file and closing it, her gaze returning to the teens in her office. She glanced wearily at Dallas, noticing his feral countenance, before motioning to Ella.

"I will check in with the both of you again to see if there's any improvement in Mr. Winston's classes, and then we will determine if a different tutor will be suitable for the job, especially if your schedules are no longer compatible," she explained sternly.

Ella bit her lip as Dallas stood up, exiting the office. Before she could leave, though, the counselor had called her back, eyeing her carefully.

"If there is anything that isn't . . . working out for you, do not hesitate in letting me know," she stated, her voice level. "I can always speak with Mr. Davis should you find yourself . . . uncomfortable."

The teen's brows pulled together as she listened to the woman's words. It sounded as though Mrs. Philips was encouraging her to give up on Dallas, as if she were expecting him to fail without her help, and something about that just didn't sit well with the girl.

"Thank you," she responded, turning on her heel and exiting the office. She brushed her hair away from her face, glancing ahead and nearly dropping her bag when she realized Winston had waited for her.

He looked at her coolly. "Well?"

"Well what?" came the sarcastic reply as she continued ahead.

Dallas huffed. "You wanna continue this shit or what? I'll go back there and tell that hag you ain't up for the job if you're out."

Ella stopped abruptly, gritting her teeth as she turned back to face him. "For your information, _hood_ , it wasn't me who quit in the first place."

The blond raised an eyebrow at her choice of words, but he still smirked. "Oh no? I ain't the one who stopped showing up, either, _sweets_. If I remember correctly, it was you who didn't bother comin' around all those weeks ago."

Ella wanted to slap him, punch him, anything to get that shit-eating grin off his ugly face. Glory, she couldn't stand him sometimes. For a minute, she debated on marching right back to Mrs. Philips and telling her that she was done, but that would only let Winston have his way, and Ella Mitchell was never one to back down.

"Fine," she bit out. "I'll see you after school."

Dallas responded with an even bigger grin.

* * *

"Ponyboy," a voice rang out in the hall, causing the young teen to move to the side and see who had been calling his name. To his surprise, it was Randy Adderson, who was maneuvering his way through the body of students as they headed to their next class.

Pony offered a curt nod to the older boy. "Hi, Randy."

The Soc fell in step with him. "Look, I heard what happened last week with George, and I wanted to let you know that I spoke to him about it."

"Why?"

Randy glanced down at the kid for a second, brows pulling together. "Because I'm sick of all this, and so are a lot of other people, Ponyboy." He sighed. "Cherry's been real upset about everything, too. She came to me about George Clayton, asked me to talk with him, but I suppose that didn't turn out how we expected." He motioned to the faded bruise on the kid's face.

That was when Ponyboy stopped again, his eyes raising a little as he stared up at the older teen, an inquisitive expression on his face. He liked both Randy and Cherry well enough—the latter more than the former—but he didn't really appreciate people placing themselves in his problems. Still, he knew that they'd only meant well, and he agreed with them on one thing: he was sick of the social class dilemma as well.

"He hasn't said anything since the fight," Ponyboy stated, shifting his books. "I appreciate the help, Randy, but I don't really need it."

"You know two of your friends came looking for him last week?" At his curious look, Randy continued on. "The day you were suspended, Two-Bit Mathews and Steve Randle were asking for him, told Cherry to pass the message along that if he started with you again, he'd be dealing with them."

At this newfound information, Ponyboy frowned. "Yeah, well, I haven't told anyone anything about Clayton, and I want it to stay that way." Their eyes met. "You know the only reason he was hassling me was because of—"

"Bob. I know."

The younger teen nodded, looking away uncomfortably. He wondered about Randy, then; he had been Bob's closest friend, and he knew that Randy was on the receiving end of the greasers, too, since he'd been there when Bob nearly drowned him. They'd both been victims one way or the other—nobody seemed to recognize it, though.

Ponyboy remembered Randy's words all those weeks ago. Maybe the Socs would always be the lucky ones at the top with all the breaks, but there were multiple sides to every story, this he knew. He just wished he'd known it the night of Bob's death.

The bell rang, then, and Pony glanced back at Randy. "I'll see you around."

Randy nodded, and the two parted ways.

* * *

Craig stared at Ella in disbelief. "I thought I warned you about him."

"You did, Craig," she countered, closing her locker. "But I have a job, and I'm not just about to give up because of something that happened between your friend and his."

The dark-haired boy sighed. "That isn't the point."

"Craig—"

He reached for her hands, his grip tight but not rough. "El, I worry about you because I care about you, and Winston . . . he's—"

The girl sighed. "I know. He's a criminal, he's dangerous, he's everything but good. But Craig, honestly, nothing is going to happen."

"You don't know that."

Ella wished that she hadn't mentioned this morning's guidance visit to Craig. She thought he would be able to understand, or at least hear her out, but he was doing neither. Instead, he had been attempting to get her to tell Mrs. Philips, or Mr. Davis, that she was done with the job, that she no longer had time to help tutor Dallas Winston due to school and work.

But she was having none of it. It wasn't that she _wanted_ to help Winston, either, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let him get over on her.

She looked at her boyfriend closely. "I'm not backing out of this, Craig. I'm sorry that it bothers you, but you're just going to have to accept it." And then she gave him a look of reassurance. "Look, if he does something, or if anything happens, I'll report it straight away, alright?"

Craig ground his teeth, wondering why Ella could be so stubborn. She was more trouble than she was worth, he thought to himself, but like Winston was to her, she was a job to him, too. And he would be damned if Winston got in the way of that.

Ella continued on, dropping her hands back to her sides. "Besides, some good could come out of it. The better he does, the less help he'll need."

He snorted. "The only thing I see is _trouble_ , because that's all that comes with Dallas Winston."

The girl smirked, knowing that statement to be true. Hopefully, the hood would be able to keep his grades up enough without so much of her help, but that was only something she could hope for. It would keep her away from him, and Craig would be content.

"So," he said as they reached the doors, "I'll pick you up after work later?"

She nodded, a smile brushing her lips. "Yes."

* * *

"You're back with the tutoring, then?" Steve questioned, puffing on his cigarette. His eyes flickered to Dally, one brow raised in minor curiosity.

The blond nodded, humming in affirmation. At that moment, Two-Bit and Ponyboy approached Steve's car, ready to head out, as Steve was the one who'd driven that day. Two-Bit's brakes had gone again, so Steve had volunteered to drive until he could take a look at his buddy's car.

"You workin' tonight?" Two-Bit asked, looking at Steve.

"Yeah," he answered. "Me an' Evie are goin' out afterward. I was gonna try and get Soda out, too, ya know, git him to have a little fun."

Two-Bit laughed. "Where, in the sack?"

Ponyboy rolled his eyes as he climbed into the back of Steve's car, ignoring the string of crude comments coming from the other boys. A few minutes later, he was joined by Two-Bit and Steve, before they drove away, leaving Dallas to wait for his tutor.

Dally caught sight of Ella and Craig walking across the parking lot. The dark-haired boy paused to kiss her cheek before they separated, Dopey making her way over to him. He smirked a bit, and not because he was glad to see her, but because he knew his presence alone was a nuisance to her. He enjoyed every second he got being under her skin—it was simply a rise.

"Dallas," she greeted coolly, jaw clenching as she said his name. She paused in front of him, giving him one hell of a look. "Here's the deal, alright? You owe me an apology for the way you've treated me, so unless I get one, I _refuse_ to help you."

The greaser nearly laughed his ass off. Ella fucking Mitchell, his dopey-ass tutor, was standing there in front of him, defiant and stubborn as ever, attempting to demand an apology from him. Oh, he could hear bells in the distance, alright. Glory, she was definitely something else.

"Why apologize when I ain't sorry for nothin'?" he countered, turning on his heel and getting into the car. He didn't apologize to anyone, not ever.

She was beside him in the passenger seat in a few short seconds. "You _should_ be sorry. First off—"

Dally tuned her out before she even got around to reason number one. He didn't care to put up with this shit. In fact, he wasn't exactly sure what possessed him to agree to this in the first place, but holy hell, he was regretting it now. He remembered that godawful woman, Mrs. Philips Screwdriver, or whatever, going on and on that morning about his failing grades or some shit, and he'd had enough.

Yeah, that was the reason.

He would get his grades up and learn the material, then ditch his bitchy tutor again.

"Are you even _listening_ to me?" Ella practically yelled in his ear as he lit up a cigarette.

Well, Jesus H. Christ, had she always been that loud? Dally wasn't sure he'd ever heard her go off like that, and he assumed that her change in personality had something to do with her fishy-eyed boyfriend, not that he cared.

"Nope," he answered, blasting the radio and peeling out of the parking lot. He barely registered Ella flying forward in the seat as they passed her boyfriend across the lot, watching them with an angry expression plastered on his face.

"Dallas!" Ella cried, gritting her teeth while attempting to sit up straight and buckle her seat belt.

Somebody honked at him as he flew out onto the road, cutting them off. "So, _sweets_ , ya hungry?"

* * *

Ella rubbed her head as she tried to read her history homework; she still felt a little sick from last night, and there was also work to contend with after she was finished tutoring Winston. She was surprised that the obnoxious hood remained silent beside her while he went over his English work. Then again, he was also preoccupied with stuffing his mouth with a cheeseburger . . . or two.

The girl could have laughed had she not felt so ill. Dallas's driving certainly didn't help matters, either, and she was pretty positive he wouldn't have cared either way. She had never gotten her apology, and she figured she never would. Dallas was just . . . _impossible_.

The pages of her literature book began turning rapidly, fierce like, and Ella turned to see the blond beside her with a scowl on his face as he practically tore the book apart. He muttered a few profanities under his breath, his frown deepening.

Ella cocked an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Lookin' for somethin'," came the hard response as he flipped another page.

"Maybe I could help, if you simply asked," she said in a small voice, hoping she didn't send him flying on another rampage.

Dallas glanced at her, seeming to consider her words, and before she could blink, the book was thrust in her lap, nearly spilling her drink in the process.

"I'm lookin' for a poem or some garbage," he divulged after a minute. "It's somethin' about gold, or stay gold . . ." He trailed on, trying to remember the words he'd read a few weeks back, but he could hear Johnny telling Ponyboy to stay gold, too. "I don't fucking know what it is."

Ella flinched at his vulgarity, but began searching through the book for anything that sounded like what the hood was trying to explain, or get out. After several minutes, Dallas had gotten fed up, telling her to forget about it, that it wasn't worth the fucking trouble.

But Ella had a feeling it was, and she was left to wonder why a poem, of all things, would have Dallas Winston so fixated on finding it in a literature book.

* * *

Craig ate dinner quietly that night. He kept glancing at the clock, watching the minutes tick down ever so slowly. He kept thinking about Ella, worried that Dallas Winston might have said something to her about George and Ponyboy.

He knew what he'd said to her wasn't exactly the truth, but that was only to cover up for George and Kevin. He didn't know what would happen if she found out he'd been in on that little scam with the greaser. It wasn't like he honestly cared, either.

Sure, he liked Ella, but she was a pain in his ass, and he was growing annoyed with her. She didn't like to do the things he did, she wasn't real fun, and she was always busy with school, tutoring, and work, or whatever else. He knew he was being slightly unfair, but he had a life, too, one which didn't involve waiting around for his uptight girlfriend.

Still, this was all George's idea, and Craig was getting sick of it.

 _Don't go around tonight_

 _Well, it's bound to take your life_

 _There's a bad moon on the rise_

* * *

 **Thank you profusely for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! You guys are amazing! I love hearing from you! :3**


	15. Stuck

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Stealers Wheel owns "Stuck in the Middle With You."**

* * *

 _Trying to make some sense of it all_

 _But I can see it makes no sense at all_

 **December 3, 1965**

Ella found Dallas Friday morning waiting at Steve Randle's locker by himself. It was still early, but it was pouring out, and the girl assumed that he didn't want to wait outside in the rain. As the bell rang, she approached him, thrusting her literature book in his direction. He gave her a questioning look, his trademark scowl still in place.

"Page 228," she said, not bothering to elaborate. She didn't look back at him, either, as she headed to her first class of the day.

The brown-haired teen wondered if he would even bother to look at the page; she'd spent the past two nights attempting to find the poem he'd been talking about the other day during their tutoring session. It had taken her that long to skim through the names of each poem and story, before she'd come across "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost.

She thought that was the one the hood had been searching for—it sounded awfully damn close to what he'd described to her.

She had read the poem a few times to herself, trying to figure out what could be so important about it, but she was left with nothing. After all, she really didn't know Dallas on an interpersonal level, so she wasn't able to decipher important things about him. He was often so complex, that the girl had a hard time understanding him to begin with.

Still, she had taken her time to find that poem, and she hoped it was the right one.

Ella hadn't seen the hood since Wednesday, but they were back to their regular sessions, so she was certain he would have something to say to her later that afternoon. For once, she actually found herself looking forward to it, and not because she wanted to see Winston, but because she wanted to know what was so relevant about Frost's poem—if it was the correct one.

"El," Craig greeted, taking a seat beside her at the lab table. He kissed her cheek, a smile on his lips as he stared at her. "You working tonight?"

She offered her boyfriend a sympathetic look. "Yeah, and I'm—"

"Tutoring Winston," he finished, nodding once with a sigh. At her baffled expression, he merely shrugged. "I know the routine, El."

The girl pursed her lips, knowing he was disappointed. "I'm sorry, Craig."

She knew her boyfriend often got annoyed with her spending so much time with Dallas, but he wasn't harping on her as much as he used to. Still, though, he expressed his concern for her, letting her know subtlety that he didn't trust the hood, and that he didn't think it was wise for them to be alone so often.

Ella would simply nod her head in understanding, though she already knew how Craig felt, and she would reiterate that she was fine and nothing was going to happen.

She appreciated his concern for her, but sometimes, Craig could be overbearing about it, and Ella had blown him off a couple of times by switching the topic or simply not responding.

He shook his head. "It's fine. You want to do something tomorrow?"

She smiled, then. "I'd love to."

* * *

Mr. Davis thumbed through Two-Bit's file silently, not bothering to say anything to the greaser who sat across from his desk, other than his official greeting when the teen had entered his office only a few minutes ago.

Two-Bit, though he wasn't expressing it outwardly, was slightly nervous. Since making the decision to stay in school until graduation, and asking Ponyboy to tutor him, he'd been doing quite well in each of his classes, and he was certain his grades had improved.

The red-headed boy never thought that he would be in the principal's office to discuss his academic development on a decent level, but here he was, fidgeting in his seat as he impatiently waited for Mr. Davis to speak.

Since receiving his slip in homeroom that morning, Two-Bit had been feeling a bit anxious. He'd told Ponyboy when he'd seen him on his way to second period, and the younger teen had only wished him luck, attempting to assure him that it was most likely for good news. Well, boy howdy, he simply wished ol' Davis would hurry it up and spit out whatever it was he was going to say, good news or not.

"Keith," the older man said after a moment, looking down the bridge of his nose at the teen, "I must say that I'm honestly impressed with you."

Two-Bit sat up straighter. "That so, Sir?"

He nodded, humming lightly. "You're passing English, history and mathematics, Keith." His eyes skimmed the file. "You'll need to bring up your grade in science, but you're not too far behind, and there is still quite a bit of time left in the marking period for improvement."

"So, I'll be able to graduate, then?"

"I'd say so, if you keep out of trouble and these current grades of yours remain consistent."

Two-Bit grinned widely, standing up. This was the best news he had heard in quite some time, and he had a certain young greaser to thank for it.

"Well, thank you, Sir," he said, his gray eyes lively once more.

Mr. Davis waved him on. "You can offer your gratitude when you officially graduate, Keith, or when you find another hobby other than attending school for . . . whatever reason it is that you enjoy coming when it suits you."

The teen cocked an eyebrow. "Say now, perhaps I'll get a job as a janitor here after I graduate."

The older man merely stared at the space where the teen had been a second ago, shaking his head with a slight roll of his eyes.

* * *

"Don't tell me you're not going through with it," Kevin said in surprise, glaring at Craig as he slammed his gym locker shut. "George will have a cow."

Craig sighed. "I'm just getting sick of this. You can't tell me you actually enjoy taking orders from him."

Kevin only stared at Craig, unsure of what to say. Sure, he wanted as much revenge on the Curtis kid as George did, but he had to admit, George _was_ taking things a bit far. The two didn't know what he was planning, but George was set on making the younger teen pay for Bob's death.

It was getting a bit out of hand, though. Bob's death was nearly three months ago, and George had spent his time hassling Ponyboy Curtis during school—mostly gym—and starting with him during track just to get a rise out of him. He'd gotten mighty pissed when Randy Adderson had stepped in, and things had only soured when Bob's former girlfriend, Cherry Valance, had gotten involved, too.

Kevin had apparently heard a brief conversation with Cherry and Ponyboy one day after school the week before Thanksgiving break. He'd told George about it, too; supposedly, Cherry was inquiring about the issue involving the two boys, but the kid hadn't given much away.

Of course, since the fight between George and Ponyboy, not to mention the threat from Steve Randle and Two-Bit Mathews, which was delivered by Cherry, George had backed off a bit. The message had angered him further, but he hadn't said anything to either Craig or Kevin since.

"What about your girlfriend?" came the unwanted question.

"What about her?" Craig countered, eyeing Kevin critically.

The other boy crossed his arms over his chest. "You know _what_. Are you going to keep messing around with her because you just _despise_ taking orders from George?"

Craig's nostrils flared in vexation. "Ella is my problem, not George's."

"Sure."

At that moment, Ponyboy Curtis entered the locker room, and the two went quiet. Kevin merely looked at Craig, before motioning his head in the younger teen's direction.

"What about him?" Craig asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kevin shrugged. "George wants to kill that kid."

Craig's blood went cold. "How do you—"

"He was raving about it the other night," he replied, lowering his voice. "We were drinking, and Sonny Milton brought up Bob's name, which sent George on a rampage." He clenched his jaw before speaking again. "I know the other kid died, but George wants to completely avenge Bob. He's—"

"What are you two doing chatting around like two old wash-women?" George asked loudly, approaching the pair with a grin on his face. "Class starts in two minutes."

Craig felt a chill move up and down his spine. He wasn't sure what to do about the situation with his friend, or with Ella. Still, he'd promised George he'd make sure Winston was taken care of, and if he had to use Ella Mitchell to do just that, then so be it. He was stuck with him and Kevin no matter what he did.

He would leave George to deal with Curtis, though.

* * *

Ponyboy breezed out into the parking lot later that afternoon, his eyes searching for any of his friends. Two-Bit was supposed to meet him by the gym, but he'd never shown up, so the younger greaser figured that he'd gotten caught up with something, or someone, and decided to head on out. He was able to spot Dallas's blond head by Steve's car, though the dark-haired boy wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Hey, Dal," he greeted casually, placing his books on the hood of the vehicle.

Dally nodded, scanning him over. Ponyboy imagined that he was looking for any signs of a fight, but since George Clayton and his buddies weren't bothering him anymore, there was nothing to find. The younger teen was relieved to be left alone, and assumed it was the threat from Two-Bit and Steve that had cooled things off.

He wondered why neither boy had mentioned that incident to him, but decided that, like everyone seemed to be doing, they were merely looking out for him.

Still, Ponyboy didn't want anyone to worry about him anymore. It wasn't fair. He could hold his own and do just fine by himself.

He heard Two-Bit's laughter before he saw him, his eyes raising as he glanced in the direction from where it had come. The goofy greaser was chatting with a few older hoods that were still in school, his eyes screwed shut as he bent over in a fit of laughter, slapping his knee.

Before he could roll his eyes, Dally's face appeared in his vision, his piercing orbs intent as he glared at him through narrowed slits.

"You deaf or somethin'?" the blond bit out. At his confused look, the older teen continued. "I asked you if that Clayton kid was givin' ya a hard time still."

"Oh." Ponyboy flushed in embarrassment. "No, he ain't."

Dallas stared at him intently for another moment, causing his skin to crawl. Sometimes, the hood had a horrible way of making one uncomfortable, and he didn't even have to mean it. Ponyboy shivered as he remembered writing about his criminal buddy in his theme.

Two-Bit walked over at that point, grinning proudly. He slapped Ponyboy on the back playfully, his eyes dancing as he told them that Mr. Davis was letting him continue high school, so long as he was able to maintain his current grades.

Ponyboy felt a bit of triumph for their friend.

* * *

Across the lot, Ella sat with Craig, Fred and his girlfriend, Donna, and Kevin. The boys were in their own discussion, leaving Donna and Ella to sit quietly across from one another in the back of Fred's truck. The weather, although chilly, was pleasant enough to sit outside without freezing too much.

Donna glanced at her, dark hair falling over her shoulder. "So, will you and Craig be attending George's party over break?"

"Party?" Ella repeated, remembering Craig mentioning something to her about one a while back.

The other girl grinned. "Well, George's parents will be out of town for two days before Christmas, so George was going to have a party. Of course, being Craig's girlfriend, you're automatically invited."

Craig, overhearing the conversation, intervened. "We'll be there, right, El?"

Ella feigned a small smile in response. It annoyed her when Craig assumed things for her, or them, like that without speaking to her about it. She liked him well enough, though, that it didn't completely upset her, but she wished there was more communication between them.

Craig kissed her cheek lightly, giving her a soft grin. "We are still on for dinner with my parents next week, too, right?"

The brown-haired girl nodded. "Yeah."

"Good."

He appeared genuinely happy that she was having dinner at his house. He'd introduced her to both of his parents a week or so back, and they both liked her quite a bit. His mother had been the one to suggest inviting her to the house for dinner, and Craig had been too shocked to decline. When he'd told Ella about it, she was surprised, but excited, too.

Craig almost felt bad. He knew that Ella honestly liked him, and the longer he stayed with her, the more she was falling. In the beginning, it was easy to ask her out, and at first, he thought that he would end up liking her, but now he wasn't so sure about that.

Sure, she was cute and decent, but this was George's doing, not his.

He wondered how long he could go on doing this, playing a part before he snapped, and he wondered what George's plans with Ponyboy Curtis involved.

* * *

When the school day ended, Ella found herself a little anxious. She had been wondering about Dallas Winston since she'd given him her literature book that morning. She wouldn't flat out ask him what the poem had meant, as she was certain he wouldn't give her a direct answer, but she would inquire if it was the right poem.

Since Craig was getting a ride home with George that afternoon, he and Ella had already exchanged their goodbyes, and the girl was left to head out to the lot alone.

"Ella," a voice called out from behind her, causing her to stop abruptly and step over to the side of the doors, a look of confusion on her face.

Cherry Valance practically jogged to catch up to her, stopping at her side. "I don't know if you remember me, but—"

Ella smiled. "Cherry Valance, of course. We were in English together last year."

Cherry nodded, and Ella waited for her to continue. She wasn't good friends with the red-head, but they had always gotten along. She thought Cherry was a nice girl, for the most part. She didn't really know her outside of school, but they'd always been cordial, perhaps even friendly, especially when the two were partnered together for last year's Macbeth themed project.

Cherry cleared her throat, her face slightly flushed. "You tutor Dallas Winston, right?"

The brown-haired girl frowned, but shook her head in affirmation. "Yes, what—"

"Do you know Ponyboy Curtis?"

"I've spoken to him twice," she answered, her voice reflecting her perplexity. "Is something wrong?"

Before Cherry could open her mouth, her name was being called by a group of people in a car that had pulled up in front of them. Cherry gave her a sympathetic look, before glancing back at her friends with a pleading expression.

"Just tell Dallas to keep an eye on him," she replied quickly, walking away. "There's nothing going on, but it's just a concern. He'll understand."

Ella merely watched the other girl make her way down the stairs and into the car, wondering what on earth she could be talking about. She didn't really know Ponyboy, but she knew that he and Dallas were friends, and that Cherry's ex-boyfriend was the one who was murdered almost three months ago.

With a sigh, Ella walked out to the lot to find Dallas, who was waiting in his own car, chewing on the side of an ID card, looking mildly impatient.

The two only offered each other a curt nod.

* * *

"So, did you find what you were looking for?" Ella asked, sipping on her soda as she motioned to her literature book beside herself.

Dallas scoffed. "No, it was nothin' important."

"Oh."

The blond went back to his math problems, a scowl on his face. Apparently, he wasn't in a good mood, _again_ , and Ella was left to wonder if he'd ever experienced one. She had witnessed multiple sides of the hood's personality already, but it was as if his default was pure anger. One little word could change his entire demeanor, as the girl had come to learn.

Dallas still frightened her, but she had become accustomed to him—somewhat. That wasn't to say that either of them liked each other, or even enjoyed their company, because they didn't. In a way, Ella found that she still felt bad for the hood, although she would never admit that out loud.

An exasperated sigh shook the brown-haired teen from her thoughts, her eyes shifting to the side as she stared at Dallas in bewilderment.

"Everything okay?" she asked in a barely audible voice, lowering her gaze.

She was answered with a grunt, causing her to drop the topic and return her attention to her science homework. Strangely, Ella found that she couldn't concentrate, either, the ominous words of Cherry plaguing her mind from earlier.

Exhaling slowly, Ella closed her book, placing it back in her bag. "I'm done."

Dallas glanced at her, eyes hard, though there was a look of bewilderment in them. He didn't bother to ask her anything, though, simply handing the math book back to her. The pair was silent for a minute or so, both lost in their own thoughts. Besides, neither of them had really spoken in-depth about anything to feel overly comfortable around each other, unless it was to mock one another and bicker afterward.

Ella turned in the passenger seat, brows pulling together. "How's Ponyboy?"

She was sure the inquiry had sounded odd, and judging by the towheaded teen's responded expression, she knew it had. Still, Cherry's words were getting to her, and she wanted to know what the girl had meant by them. Ella didn't really know Ponyboy, but she was fond enough of the younger boy and wanted to make sure he was alright.

"Fine." Dallas lit up a cigarette, exhaling the smoke as he stared ahead. "Why?"

Leaning back in the seat, Ella relayed her brief conversation with Cherry to the hood. Even as she spoke, he didn't look at her or even react, he simply stared. When she was finished, they fell into another silence, suddenly making the girl uncomfortable.

Eventually, Dallas spoke, eyeing her coolly. "We done, then?" At her nod, he continued, starting the car up. "You goin' to work or your house?"

"Work," she answered quietly, crossing her arms over herself. She didn't say anything as Dallas began driving, but she wondered if something was wrong.

Since tutoring Winston and dating Craig, Ella found herself in situations she wasn't thrilled about or happy in, and trouble kept seeming to come her way. Sometimes, the girl felt stuck in the middle of everything with no escape route.

* * *

Hanging the phone up, Ponyboy leaned back in the kitchen chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes for a minute. That was the third publishing company that had rejected his theme, going on about how it promoted violence and other nonsense the teen didn't feel like thinking about.

He was glad the call had come when Darry was in the shower so he didn't have to know just yet. Soda was out with Steve somewhere, so he was alone. The younger boy wanted it to be a full fledged surprise if he was given the opportunity to become an actual published author. Glory, just the thought alone caused a genuine grin to spread across his lips. He then wondered what he'd call himself.

Ponyboy Curtis, Ponyboy Michael Curtis, Ponyboy M. Curtis . . . None of those sounded good to him, so he played around with his name, before finally settling on his initials—P.M. Curtis. That sounded tuff enough, he thought.

He'd been sending in copied parts of his theme to different companies since November, but he wasn't having any luck with it. Still, though, the young teen wasn't giving up, not yet at least. His English teacher had a good feeling about the story, and Ponyboy did, too.

And if he had started with telling his English teacher, then he would find a way to get his story out to the world one way or another.

* * *

Dallas hopped over the bar at exactly ten o'clock, after sliding a beer down to one lone cowboy at the far side who'd requested another. Buck eyed him from the back, glancing at the clock and nodding his approval to the blond, not that he cared.

Making his way up to his room for the night, Dallas sighed, kicking the door open and heading over to the desk where he stashed his packages of Kools. Tearing a pack open, he pulled out a cigarette and lit up, cracking the window as he leaned back against the wall beside the bed.

He hadn't been able to get that poem out of his head and he didn't know why. It was just some lousy ass piece of literature that he didn't give a shit about, so why was he thinking about it?

Some part of him figured it was because of Johnny's dying words to Ponyboy, but Dallas told himself that the kid was dead and whatever nonsense he'd said to Pony didn't fucking matter. Just thinking of the youngest member of their gang caused him to ground his teeth.

He remembered what Ella had told him—the message from Cherry whatever-her-name-is.

Even though the red-head didn't seem worried, only relaying a concern, Dallas was pissed. There had to be something that would make her go to Ella Mitchell just to get a message across to him. Christ, it wasn't as if that gal was scared of him; she had too much nerve and pride for that, traits the blond hood had found very . . . alluring.

He recalled the day she'd pulled up at the lot when the gangs were having a meeting, dressed real sharp and walking over to them like she meant business, and she had. She'd wanted to be a spy for them to make up for her dead fucking boyfriend's mistake, even though she claimed everything was her fault, which in Dallas's mind, it _was_.

He didn't have to like her at all, but the thought of taking her out . . . well, he had no problem with that.

Stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray, the blond stretched out on the bed, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on Ponyboy, as well as Ella Mitchell, and not for the same reasons.

 _Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you_

 _And I'm wondering what it is I should do_

* * *

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	16. The Terror of Knowing

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Queen and David Bowie own "Under Pressure."**

* * *

 _Pressure pushing down on me_

 _Pushing down on you, no man ask for_

 **December 9, 1965**

"We're still on for dinner with my parents tonight, right?" Craig asked, glancing at Ella with a curious gaze, as if to make sure that she wasn't backing out of it.

Ella nodded as her boyfriend pulled away from her house. "Of course. I told you that I wouldn't miss it for the world, didn't I?" She tossed him a reassuring smile.

She figured Craig had a right to be concerned, especially since her schedule that week had been messed up and changed since her co-worker, Jan, had come down with the flu, along with a case of bronchitis, and hadn't been to work since Saturday. Ella had been working extra hours at the store, and her days had been flipped, too, which had canceled her plans with Craig in the process.

He had been a little disappointed, but he understood at the same time.

"I'm going to ask Dallas if he can switch tutoring to today instead of tomorrow," she continued, leaning back in the seat. "My boss asked me to work tomorrow afternoon until closing."

Craig pursed his lips. "Well, dinner is at six."

"I know," she replied, sounding mildly off. "I'll tutor him until three or so, and then I'll have my mother drop me off at your house later."

He smiled. "You need a ride home, then?"

"Probably."

"Alright, no problem," he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I'll drive you back."

Ella visibly relaxed. Craig seemed to be in a better mood now that he knew she wasn't canceling her plans with him. That was something that had upset the girl a bit, how Craig would become so easily dismayed whenever she had a change of plans. On the other hand, he was also sympathetic and had a knack of understanding problems.

Still, Ella couldn't help but feel that sometimes, _just sometimes_ , Craig was concealing his true feelings about certain topics, including her. She would attempt to make it up to him, though. After all, she was most definitely not going to cancel dinner at his house for anything, come hell or high water.

Her only problem now was Winston, and she was left to wonder how that would turn out.

* * *

Mrs. Girdlé stared down at Dallas's sketch, pushing the rim of her glasses up her nose as she knitted her eyebrows together in utter bemusement. She couldn't quite figure out why the troubled teen so often drew a jean jacket. Whatever assignment that she'd given out that involved drawing on paper, Dallas would sketch a jacket.

She glanced up at the boy who stood in front of her desk, who was most likely wondering why she had asked him to stay behind after class.

"What is the significance of this?" she eventually inquired, eyes searching his. She learned a while ago that the towheaded teen was rather expressive, though he could hardly make a straight line.

Dallas shrugged apathetically. "Significance of what?"

The older woman blinked, pointing to his latest work. "Do you have a liking for jackets, Mr. Winston, or does a particular one have a significance in your life? I find it curious that you hand in a practical replica of each of your assignments prior to the current."

The blond glared, a scowl on his face. "Maybe I don't really care for art, lady, ever thought of that?"

"I didn't suggest that you did, Mr. Winston."

"We done, then?"

She only offered him a polite smile. "Of course. Enjoy the rest of your day."

Dallas didn't bother to respond as he made his way out of the art room, heading in the direction of Ponyboy's next class. Ever since Ella had relayed Cherry's message of concern to him, he'd been making sure to keep an eye on the kid. He knew the guys who'd been giving him a rough time, and if he found out that they laid another finger on him, he would personally beat their heads in.

He easily found the younger teen headed his way, and he crossed the hall to meet up with him, ignoring the fact that he'd nearly tripped several students in the process.

"Hey, kid," he greeted gruffly, falling in step with him.

Ponyboy nodded, shifting his books in his hands. "Hey, Dal. How are ya?"

Dally shrugged. "Been better."

"Yeah."

The older teen looked the kid over, making sure there were no forming bruises or marks on him. He knew the kid had been lying all those weeks back, but now that the problem was taken care of, he was simply checking up. Cherry's message had made him cautious, though, but it wasn't enough to fully alarm him.

The two continued on to Ponyboy's locker, where he switched out his books. Dally leaned on the row of lockers beside them, wishing he had a cancer stick. He would have to swipe some soon, as he only had a few left in his pack.

Before Dallas could stir up a conversation with the younger greaser, he spotted Ella Mitchell making her way through the crowd, headed their way. He inwardly groaned, not wanting to speak to her just then—he wasn't in the mood to deal with her shit.

"Dallas," she said, stepping in front of him.

The blond simply stared at her, one brow raising as he waited for her to speak. He took notice to the fact that she seemed a bit out of sorts, like she was stressed or something. Then again, he'd already seen her twice that week, and she'd looked the same. The two never delved into their personal lives, and he didn't really care about her or her problems, but he was slightly curious.

"Hey, Ella," Ponyboy greeted, closing his locker door and turning to face her. "How've you been?"

"Fine, you?"

"Good."

Dally scowled, clearly impatient. "Is there somethin' you wanted?"

The girl squared her shoulders, her attention returning to the cranky hood. "I wanted to ask you if you would mind switching the tutoring to this afternoon instead of tomorrow . . . if you're not busy."

"What's wrong with tomorrow?"

Ella sighed, eyes flickering to the floor. "Nothing, I—"

"Then I don't see why we've gotta change dates."

The brown-haired teen ground her teeth, not in the mood to be messed around with. She was tired and annoyed, and the last thing she wanted to put up with was Winston's insufferable behavior. Glory, she didn't know which was worse, dealing with Winston, or being spoken for by her boyfriend. She mentally kicked herself for comparing the two, disgusted with the thought alone.

She huffed, exasperated. "Look, I'll be busy tomorrow, so either meet me after school today or don't. I don't really care."

And with that, she marched away, leaving Dallas and Ponyboy behind, the two watching her with stunned expressions.

"She really doesn't like you," the younger teen stated, glancing up at Dallas as the side of his lips quirked up in sheer amusement.

The blond offered a bitter smirk. "Little broad is a firecracker today, huh?"

Ponyboy rolled his eyes, earning him a light whack upside the head.

* * *

Soda glanced up from his place behind the counter as Steve entered the DX. Hopping over the ledge, the golden-haired greaser reached for some bottles of soda, before making his way over to his friend. He then realized that none of the other guys were around, but remembered that Ponyboy had mentioned something the other day about helping Two-Bit study for a test during their lunch period.

He was awfully proud of Two-Bit. He'd heard from Ponyboy that the older boy had spoken with Mr. Davis about staying in school, and he was allowed to so long as he kept his grades up. Soda was glad; he knew his kid brother would make a great tutor.

"Dally hanging with Ponyboy and Two-Bit?" he assumed, popping the lid off of his beverage.

Steve nodded, munching on some chips. "Yeah. He's been doin' an awful lotta hanging around your kid brother, you know that?"

"Really?" Soda said, looking as surprised as he sounded. "I didn't."

The darker haired boy shrugged, but didn't bother to elaborate on it. Soda had a feeling that Dallas was sticking around Ponyboy because of the incident with George Clayton a few weeks ago. Glory, when he had heard about that, he had wanted to find the guy and knock him around some.

Darry had told him to let it go for the time being, though, which had stunned him, to say the least. He expected his older brother to be the one to suggest it in the first place, but he'd put his foot down and Soda hadn't argued.

Other than that, Ponyboy had been coming around, starting to act like his old self, which was relieving to both Soda and Darry. His nightmares were becoming less frequent, and he seemed excited about something, but Soda only assumed that it was because of the upcoming holidays.

Steve's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Frankie ain't coming in today. You think Benny will mind if I took the extra hours?"

Soda shook his head. "Nah, I doubt it, but that means you're gonna miss the rest of school if you want the full shift."

"I plan on skipping out the rest of today anyway."

"You fix Two-Bit's car yet?"

The older teen nodded. "Yeah, the other weekend. It should be good; he drove the damn thing to school today."

Soda chuckled. "I asked Benny if he could give me more hours, but he told me eight is the most he can offer." At his buddy's expression, he continued, his gaze shifting to his sneakers. "It's just that . . . well, with Darry only working one job now, we ain't making enough to cover the bills. My hours here aren't enough, either."

"Shit, man," Steve said, fishing a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. "You listen here, buddy, you can take half of my paycheck until you an' Darry are alright—"

"No way, Steve," came the firm response. "You know I can't accept that."

The other boy narrowed his eyes. "Yes you can, and you will. Hell, I stay at your place and eat your food, and none of y'all ever complained, so I will give you some money, ya hear?"

Soda only gave him a half meant smile, his brown eyes not dancing. He'd been thinking about getting a second job to help with everything, and he knew that he would have to eventually if he and his brothers wanted to keep a roof over their heads.

* * *

Dallas swaggered up to Ella's locker at the end of the day, pressing his back against hers as he waited for her to get there. He'd decided to accept her change of plans, but not to satisfy her, which he was going to make sure she knew. Two-Bit had mentioned something about a race the following night, which was more appealing than spending an afternoon with his tutor.

"So, you're here," Ella remarked, tone reflecting surprise as she began spinning her combination before attempting to open her locker door.

Dallas raised an eyebrow, moving aside. "Yeah, but not for your benefit, sweets. Believe me, I've got plenty of other things I could be doin'."

"Sure."

He wrinkled his nose, looking down at her. It had been two months since she was assigned his tutor and he couldn't find one likable aspect about her at all. Still, it wasn't as if he was trying to anyway; he wasn't looking for friends or attachments—they only got in the way, like Johnny had. Dallas cursed his mind for thinking of the dark-haired boy, not wanting to remember him then. He did enough of that in his recent nightmares that plagued his thoughts in the night.

The towheaded teen pursed his lips, shaking himself from those thoughts. He didn't need to be dealing with shit like that, not now at least.

Placing her bag over her shoulder, Ella nodded to Dallas. "You ready?"

He didn't respond as he headed toward the doors, his tutor following behind him.

* * *

Dallas wasn't sure he'd ever heard Ella Mitchell utter a swear in all the time he'd spent with her, so it was a bit comical to hear those words coming from under the breath of a pristine girl like her. He was actually enjoying her frustration, whatever it was, relishing in the fact that _she_ was the one having a difficult time now.

She had been uptight about something for the past week, and the hood was determined to bust her about it, not caring if she became more agitated or not.

He glanced at her, then, a smirk creeping along his lips. "What's got your panties in a twist, sweets?"

She glared at him, blue orbs piercing and intent. "None of your business."

"Oh, my," he replied sarcastically. "So taut."

The girl's teeth were grinding against each other so hard, she was surprised they hadn't chipped. She knew that Dallas Winston really wasn't her main issue, but he had an annoying way of getting under her skin, like an infection she couldn't get rid of.

"Be quiet," she returned, trying to get back to her homework.

Winston, though, wasn't finished. "Excuse me, _your highness_ , I wasn't the one being distracting." He flipped his book closed, reaching for a leftover fry in the bag between them. "So, sweets, what's yer problem, huh?" At her silence, he only became more contemptuous. "Is it the boyfriend? What's the matter, he ain't . . . _taking care_ of ya?"

"Go to hell!" she bit out, turning away from him in the seat to face the window. "At least _he_ has some morals, and at least _he's_ decent to me."

The blond merely grinned in spite. He waited a while, aimlessly flipping through the pages of the history book she'd given him. He'd read through the one section already, and now he was bored. He wasn't sure how she could actually concentrate on school work, but then again, he thought she was strange, and he was certain there was no room for improvement.

Eventually, becoming restless, Dallas began drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, finishing off the remainder of his drink. His eyes flickered over to Ella, who was still facing away from him. He wondered how far he would have to go to really piss her off. He imagined her already bushy hair flying out in all directions like Einstein or some shit as her face scrunched up in absolute anger. He almost laughed at the thought— _almost_.

With a forced sigh of boredom, he grabbed a spare napkin and balled it up in his hands, before tossing it in her direction. It hit her shoulder, bouncing off and landing on the floor. When she offered him no reaction, he did it again, only this time, it landed directly in the center of her book.

Ella jerked around, nostrils flared and lips parted in vexation. The hood was sure she was about to explode, and he was right.

"What is your problem, hood?" His mocking grin was enough to make her want to slap him across the face. "That's it. We're done."

The blond teen merely stared at her, his expression reflecting amusement, only his tutor wasn't exactly sharing his current vibe. With an annoyed huff, she threw both napkins back at him, making sure to hit him in the face.

Dallas only laughed at her feeble reaction, starting the engine and pulling away. She'd asked him earlier if he could drop her off at the store, and she assumed he was headed there. She was fed up with him, and not just him, but everything. Glory, she could feel all the pressure pushing down on her, making her feel suffocated in her own existence.

Sometimes she just wanted to hide.

* * *

Ella had ended up driving herself to Craig's that night; her mother had said she wasn't feeling well and decided to let her take the car, stating that she wouldn't need it that night anyway, as she had called out of work earlier.

Ella had been to Craig's house before, had met his parents, but she was hoping that her mother would have a chance to meet Mr. and Mrs. Bryant that night; she'd wanted her to have a part in her life, even if it was simply becoming acquainted with her boyfriend's parents.

But fate always had a different plan for the girl it seemed.

Craig was the first to greet her on the porch. He looked so excited to see her, but there was something in his eyes that Ella wasn't quite able to register. For a moment, it looked as if he could be anxious, or possibly concerned, but she hadn't questioned it. Instead, she merely let him kiss her cheek, before taking her hand and leading her inside.

The house was immaculate on the inside, even more than the outside. Craig had previously told Ella that his mother was a neat-freak, having a rather eccentric hobby of over cleaning. The girl had only chuckled at his faint description of his mother, responding that her mother had her own strange knacks as well.

"You drove alone?" Craig asked, glancing around her at her mother's vehicle.

Ella nodded. "My mom was sick, so—"

"You could have called," he interrupted, giving her a firm look. "I would have picked you up."

She lowered her head. "I know, but you already do enough for me, Craig. Besides, it's not like I'm incapable of driving on my own."

"I didn't say you were," he replied in a lighter tone, pulling her into the kitchen where his mother stood mixing a bowl of mashed potatoes.

The older woman turned at the sound of the two teenagers, offering Ella a warm smile. "It's so nice to see you again!" she greeted kindly, placing the bowl on the table.

"Likewise," Ella said, watching as Mrs. Bryant began to carry a set of dishes across the kitchen. "Would you like any help?"

She waved her off, shaking her head. "Oh, no, not at all. Just make yourself comfortable."

Ella's lips curved up gingerly at Craig's mother. She noted that Craig resembled her more than his dad, if she remembered correctly. Mrs. Bryant and her son shared the same eyes and the same naturally tanned skin. She inwardly grimaced, knowing how she stood out beside them with her fair, freckled complexion and blue eyes.

"Come on," Craig said gently, leading her to the table.

* * *

Ponyboy continuously read over the letter he'd received in the mail that afternoon. He was grateful to be the first one home that day, his mood immediately shifting gears once he saw a response from the company he had sent a copy of his theme to. His heart raced, nearly pounding against his rib cage, as he tore the letter open in order to read it.

Dale Franklin, one of the editors, had responded to him with an interest in his story. He had written that he would like to hear more of it, even leaving his personal office number to speak with the teen about a possible publication.

Ponyboy couldn't bring himself to wrap his head around it. He couldn't believe that someone, besides his English teacher, had taken an interest in his theme, _his story._ He paused, fingering the letter in his hands—it wasn't just his story, it was Johnny's and Dallas's. The youngest Curtis smiled to himself as he thought about Johnny. Golly, he sure would be proud, excited even, to hear this news.

"Ponyboy, what are you doing in there?" Soda called from the other side of the door. "Come on, I have to go!"

The younger boy rolled his eyes, folding the letter up and stuffing it inside his pocket. He would have to call Dale Franklin when he was sure there would be no interruptions, and where he was certain none of the gang, especially his brothers, could overhear it.

He could feel his stomach flipping with excitement.

* * *

The longer Ella spent at Craig's house, the more she realized that he acted like a completely different person than he did when he was around her in general. He seemed more relaxed, more at ease, when he wasn't around his friends, too, but now it felt like he was trying to put on a show for her. The girl was beginning to question her boyfriend's behavior.

She tried to rationalize that a lot of people were different in their own environment, but with Craig, she felt like something was off. She liked his parents, though, and she was certain that she really, really liked Craig, but there was something about him that was pushing her away.

Instead of hanging out with him after dinner, she had offered to help his mother clean up the dishes while he wandered out to the living room to watch the tube with his father. Later, the two had sat on the porch for a while, but Craig had hardly uttered a word to her, and now she was growing upset.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, fingers twiddling together in her lap. "Craig?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you upset about something?"

The brown-haired boy looked over at her, raising a questioning eyebrow. "What would make you think that?"

The girl shrugged. "You've hardly spoken to me tonight."

"Oh," he sighed, shrugging. "It's not you, El."

And it wasn't, not really, he told himself. No, it was George's voice in his head going on about Ponyboy Curtis and Dallas Winston, and now his girlfriend.

Craig thought that Kevin was getting annoyed with their buddy, too, but neither one wanted to say anything. Kevin was closer to George than he was to Craig, so Craig was often guarded when it came to relaying things to him.

Still, he was sure Kevin hadn't mentioned anything to George about his current aggravation regarding him, so he was safe.

Ella, though, was just becoming both a nuisance and a distraction. It's not that he didn't like her, but he wasn't into her, and all this sneaking around, along with the facade he was putting up, wasn't helping any of his problems.

"Are you sure?" she asked, voice slightly cracking.

Craig placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer against him. "Of course."

He felt her relax, making him feel both guilty and relieved. As long as Ella believed that he liked her, he would be okay. As for George's plans, he would just keep his mouth shut and go along with whatever his friend wanted to do, so long as he wasn't directly involved.

As his eyes flickered down to his girlfriend's face, he wondered how long this would last. Sometimes, he really wanted out.

 _It's the terror of knowing what the world is about_

 _Watching some good friends_

 _Screaming, "Let me out!"_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for all the reviews and feedback! You guys are absolutely wonderful! :3**


	17. No Satisfaction

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Rolling Stones own "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction."**

* * *

 _I can't get no satisfaction_

 _I can't get no satisfaction_

 _'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try_

 _I can't get no, I can't get no_

 **December 15, 1965**

Ella rolled around in bed, eyes squinting open as she peered at the clock. She really didn't feel like going to school that day, but she didn't want to miss, either. Besides, she still had work that night, and she had a tutoring session with Dallas that afternoon.

The teen groaned, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, wishing she could rid it from her mind and body. Jan hadn't returned to work due to her illness, and Ella had called to see how the older woman was doing, before finding out that one of her children had ended up with chicken pox. On the other hand, Frances Mitchell, Ella's mother, was battling her own sickness.

She had barely left her bed, seldom ate, and mostly slept. Ella had encouraged her to phone the doctor if she was unable to go there, and so, last Saturday morning, Dr. Williams showed up at their house. He explained that Frances was simply having an extremely bad case of the flu, which had been going around lately with the change of weather and cold air settling in.

Ella was growing worried, though. Her mother's flu was lasting nearly a week, and they didn't have the money for a doctor or medication. Ella had been taking extra shifts, working overtime, and asking for more hours just to make enough to cover the bill for Dr. William's visit.

The girl was growing stressed and anxious, but she kept her focus and remained level-headed. After all, she needed to take care of her mother and the house, especially since she was the only one with an income at the moment. She knew her earnings weren't really enough, though, not with her regular hours, but her mother had been out of work for a week almost, and they would be in a terrible rut if they fell behind on the bills.

Sometimes, Ella was unsure of how her mother managed it alone all those years ago.

She cleared her mind as she went through her morning routine, hoping she could get through the day as quickly and easily as possible. Poking her head in her mother's room, she asked if she needed anything, only to be met with a soft snore.

With a sigh, Ella wrote a quick note and left it on the nightstand, letting her mother know that she was off to school and there was soup on the stove should she get hungry.

A honk outside alerted her of Craig's arrival, and she scurried out the door and headed down the steps toward his car.

Craig automatically kissed her cheek, before grinning hugely. "Happy birthday, El."

The girl's eyes widened in shock, her lips parting ever so slightly as she recalled the date in her mind, before she realized that it was, in fact, her birthday. She was officially eighteen years old today, a legal adult; she felt her stomach flipping.

She smiled at her boyfriend. "Thanks."

He took a closer look at her face. "You seem surprised. Did you forget the date?"

"I suppose I did," she admitted quietly, pressing the back of her head against the seat. She wished more than anything that she was still asleep in bed.

Craig gave her a look of concern. "I think you're working too much. You need a break."

"I need sleep."

"That, too."

As he drove in the direction of the school, Craig thought of an idea on how he would be able to do something nice for his girl—something he was positive would ensure her feelings for him, not to mention, distract her from a certain hood that afternoon.

* * *

As the bell rang, ending second period, Mr. Hayes asked Dallas to stay behind. The towheaded teen made his way to his math teacher's desk and stared down at him with a blank expression. He didn't have a problem with the older man, for the most part. He was pretty tolerant and lenient, especially for the majority of his class being a bunch of greasers.

Mr. Hayes raised his eyebrows, looking up at Dallas. "I just want to let you know that you're falling a bit behind, Dallas." He adjusted his glasses. "You have a chance to raise your grade if you pass the quiz on Friday. If not, I'm afraid you'll fall back to a D. As of now, you're holding a solid C-."

The blond pursed his lips. "And if I pass?"

"You'll move to a C, or a C+, depending on the actual grade."

Dallas didn't really see the trouble with a D, but Mr. Davis apparently did. He knew he was being watched like a hawk by the principal and the counselor, Mrs. Philips Screwdriver, or whatever. With a grunt, the hood nodded, before rapidly leaving the classroom.

He practically collided into Steve as the darker haired teen made his way to his next class. The two fell in step as they made light conversation, Steve going on about Two-Bit's car going to shit again. Dally almost chuckled, wondering why Two-Bit didn't just toss that rust-bucket in the junkyard. Then again, it was his first car, and he had some weird-ass attachment to it.

His thoughts shifted to Mr. Hayes's words about him possibly flunking, and as he and Steve walked on past Ella's locker, Dallas caught her eye as she stood talking to Fish Eyes—her boyfriend.

He would chat with her later about the math shit.

* * *

Ponyboy made his way to the library early that afternoon to use the phone. He poked his head around the side of the door, peering inside the office to see if Mrs. Hughes, the librarian, was there. When he saw that she wasn't, he slipped inside, closing the door behind himself.

The teenager pulled a folded slip of paper out of his pocket, before dialing the number he had written down the other week. He had been thinking about calling Dale Franklin, the publisher, contemplating if he should really go through with it. Dale had seemed really interested in his story, though, and Ponyboy wanted nothing more than to have his theme published as an actual book.

"Hello?" a male voice answered.

Ponyboy's heart leaped in his chest. "Hello? Is this Dale Franklin?"

"Yes it is," came the answer. "Who's calling?"

"Mr. Franklin, this is Ponyboy Curtis," he replied, steadying his voice. "You responded to a—"

"Yes, Mr. Curtis! Of course," Dale replied. "I was wondering when you would call."

The teen could feel his face getting hot. He couldn't believe this was happening, that he was _actually_ speaking to a real publisher about his theme. His chest was tight from how nervous he felt, but he couldn't contain his excitement, either.

"Really?" he asked, and then froze. "I mean, I meant to call sooner, I just— I apologize."

Mr. Franklin simply overlooked the boy's anxiety. "Of course, Mr. Curtis, I understand. I wanted to let you know that I enjoyed reading what you've sent in of your story. I would really like to read more of it, possibly move forward with a publishing contract."

"I'd like that very much," Ponyboy replied, attempting to keep the nerves out of his voice. "I could send you a copy of the whole story if you want, then."

"I would appreciate that, Mr. Curtis," Dale said. "I'll give you the address to send it to so that it comes to my personal office. Do you want to write it down?"

The greaser looked around for a pen, before flipping the paper with Mr. Franklin's number over and placing it on the desk, jotting down the address the man gave him. After that, they hung up, and Ponyboy exited the office, a large grin on his face.

He couldn't believe this—any of it. Mr. Franklin sure seemed interested in his work, and the teen hoped that he liked the rest of the story. He'd already been rejected three times prior to Mr. Franklin's letter, and he was hoping it wouldn't be another repeat.

But Mr. Franklin sounded more intrigued, more willing, to read the rest of the story.

All he had to do now was get copies of his theme before sending them in. The only thing he could do in the meantime was cross his fingers and wait.

* * *

Ella smiled as Craig approached her at her locker. As she finished switching her books out for the afternoon, he watched her with a curious gaze, before speaking.

"So, I was thinking, since it's your birthday, we could do something fun," he said, closing her locker door for her once she was finished.

The brown-haired girl raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

She appreciated the thought, of course, and she really wanted to go out with Craig, but she wasn't sure she could find the time that day, especially not with tutoring and work right after school. Since she was closing that night, too, she wouldn't get out until ten o'clock. She also wanted to spend a little bit of time with her mother, but she wasn't sure there would be enough time for that, either.

Ella felt absolutely miserable.

Craig's arm snaked around her waist as he looked down at her. "How about I take you somewhere, like a surprise?"

The girl's eyes sparkled in excitement; she loved her boyfriend's surprises, but then her face fell as she remembered that she didn't really have any time that day for anything special.

"That's really thoughtful, Craig, but I don't know when we can," she admitted, her voice solemn. "I'd really love to, but—"

"How about now?" he interrupted, pulling her closer as he whispered in her ear. "We could leave right now, and I could take you out."

At those words, the girl pulled away, glancing up at him skeptically. "Craig, we can't. I have a—"

Craig reached for her arms, though, pulling her back in his direction. "Yes, you can." He leaned closer to her, then, pressing his lips beside her ear. "Come on, El, have some fun. It's your birthday."

Her face heated up as he kissed her cheek again. "But what about—"

"Who, Dallas?" he questioned, his face contorting in disgust. His eyes narrowed a little as he stared at her with contempt. "Who cares about him, Ella? You said it yourself that he barely tries, _and_ that he gets on your nerves. Besides, what does he really matter?"

Ella's brows furrowed together. "He's my responsibility, Craig . . . his grades anyway."

Craig shrugged. "Does he really matter to you, though?"

The girl merely blinked in shock at her boyfriend's words. She knew he was being harsh, but he was also right, in a sense, about the hood. Still, Ella didn't think it was quite right to ditch just to go out and celebrate her birthday with her boyfriend when she had a responsibility that came first.

"What about work?" she pushed, lips thinning out.

Another shrug. "I'll have you back in time for work. Just let me take you out."

After several seconds, Ella sighed in defeat. She could live with missing out on the rest of school, but she would have to find Dallas and let him know that she was having a change of plans. Something in her gut wasn't quite settling with the idea, and she felt bad. She remembered the first time Dallas had stood her up two months ago, and how he never apologized for how he treated her, and then, suddenly, she didn't feel so bad.

In fact, she decided that she definitely owed him a payback. He could survive missing out on one tutor session anyway; it wasn't as if either of them honestly enjoyed them.

She looked back at Craig, then, a smile brushing her lips. "Let's go."

"Atta girl," he replied, feeling satisfied.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Dallas sat in the parking lot on the hood of the T-Bird waiting for Ella. He pulled a cigarette out from his pack and lit up, inhaling deeply. After several minutes, he began to grow irritated, wondering where in the fuck she was. Usually, she never took more than a few minutes to meet up with him, or he would run into her at her locker, but today, she was exceedingly late.

The blond wondered what could possibly be taking her so long.

He watched as the lot vacated, leaving only himself and a select few other cars around, but the students had mostly cleared out, and Dallas began to grow suspicious. Pushing himself off the hood, he headed back inside in search of the bushy-haired girl. He figured he would start at her locker, considering the fact that she might have miraculously got shoved inside—now that would be fucking hilarious.

Dallas scowled when he saw that the hallway was empty, and for a second, _a split second,_ he wondered if he ought to see if Ella Mitchell _was_ stuffed inside her locker, before he blew it off.

Still, he wondered where she was. He'd seen her earlier that day, so he knew she was there. A while later, he gave up, walking back out to the car. Aggravated and annoyed, he decided that he wasn't going to wait any longer for his fucking tutor—the hell with her.

As he shoved the key in the ignition, a sudden thought dawned on him, his eyes narrowing as his face screwed up in vexation. The little bitch had bailed on him, stood him the fuck up. Grounding his teeth, the hood peeled out of the parking lot, accelerating onto the main road as his frown deepened. He wasn't done with Ella just yet, and he would let her have a piece of his mind when he saw her next.

Stupid bitch.

Every fucking time he bothered to try with something, he got fucked over. Apparently, his life had other plans than letting him have one moment of satisfaction.

* * *

Darry frowned as he went through the mail that evening, pinching the bridge of his nose. There wasn't any way he would be able to cover the bills that month. He sighed, leaning back in the kitchen chair as he closed his eyes for a moment. He wondered about Soda and Ponyboy; the very thought of Ponyboy being thrown in a boy's home made his head spin. He wouldn't let that happen, though. He couldn't!

The oldest Curtis brother scanned the bills again, attempting to figure out how in the hell he was going to make the payments on time. Since he wasn't roofing houses, he wasn't producing enough income to keep up with the finances. Not even Soda's paycheck was enough to make it, and Darry felt his gut beginning to knot as his nerves rose to the surface.

He couldn't panic, though. He didn't need his brothers, Ponyboy especially, to know about the financial troubles he was currently facing. He would have to discuss the dilemma with Soda, even though he knew the teen was somewhat aware of the rut they were in.

"Darry," Pony called, stepping into the kitchen. When the older boy glanced up, his youngest brother continued. "Could you take a look at my math homework?"

A sigh of relief. "Sure, little buddy."

He watched as Ponyboy slowly made his way over to the table, before taking a seat across from him as he handed his work over. It was quiet while he went over his kid brother's homework, inwardly wishing that he was still in school and not burdened with financial issues. Glory, he wished his parents were still around, that he truly knew what he was doing.

There was only one thing he could do, though, and that was to find another job, making it three in total.

"Where's Soda?" Ponyboy inquired, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Hmm?" he hummed, and shook his head. "Took an extra shift tonight. He'll be home later."

The younger boy frowned as his eyes shifted to his lap, unaware that his oldest brother was doing just that.

* * *

Ella finished emptying the trash in the back, making sure to keep an eye on the front of the store in case there happened to be any customers. She didn't really expect anyone to come in, though, since it was nearly ten o'clock. Glory, all she wanted was to get home already. The girl was quite tired, especially after the treat Craig had surprised her with.

She was appreciative, and even though she kept telling herself that she didn't care about bailing out on Dallas, a part of her was continuously hounding her, nagging her that she was wrong. The thought was enough to make her feel awfully guilty, and she knew she should apologize, if anything.

She recalled that afternoon, how Craig had taken her across town to see a movie, their leisure walk around the park, and how he took her out for a nice dinner before dropping her off at work, kissing her cheek and wishing her a happy birthday.

Gosh, he made her stomach flip and her heart flutter all at once. Every day, he always did something that made her fall for him more and more, but there was something else that had been bugging her since the night she'd had dinner at his house. She was certain Craig had been putting some distance between them, and Ella wasn't sure why. When she questioned him, he merely told her that everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about.

Still, Ella couldn't help but wonder.

The sound of someone entering the store jerked her from her thoughts, and she stood up straighter to see who had come in. She realized that it was a boy with golden colored hair and nice features; she was unable to see anything other than that from her place at the register.

It was only a few minutes later when he approached her, though, his arms supporting two cartons of milk, a carton of eggs, and bags of flour and sugar. Up close, she could see his name on his work shirt, and she thought it sounded familiar, although she couldn't place it. She wondered if Sodapop was actually his real name.

She decided to ask. "Is Sodapop really your name?"

The teen glanced at her, and she noticed his eyes were brown. "Sure is! I've got a kid brother named Ponyboy, too."

Ella's eyes lit up. "You're related to Ponyboy? Ponyboy Curtis?" The question sounded silly to her ears; after all, how many people had that name?

So that was where she'd heard the name before. It suddenly clicked in her mind that she'd seen him in the papers back in September.

Soda nodded, a proud grin on his face. "Yes, ma'am. You know him?"

She began ringing him up. "We're acquainted, I'd say. We've spoken a few times." She offered him a genuine smile. "He's real nice."

His eyes couldn't get any brighter. He sure liked when people complimented his family; it made him feel good, proud that he had quality parents and over-achieving brothers. Golly, Darry had been head boy and quarterback when he was in high school, and Ponyboy, well, he was brainy _and_ tuff. His parents were just about everything a kid could hope for; he took pride in that.

He squinted at Ella's name tag. "Ella, is it?"

The brown-haired girl nodded. "Ella Mitchell."

The gears in Soda's head began turning as he remembered Steve mentioning her name a while back, as well as Ponyboy talking about her. She was Dally's infamous tutor. Soda remembered her from the bar at Buck's roadhouse a few weeks back. She had been sitting by herself, but she looked a lot different than she did now. The golden-haired greaser would have never suspected her to be the same person.

He payed for his items, before taking the bags. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet ya, Ella!" He held out a free hand to be polite.

Ella hesitantly shook it. "You, too."

He gave her one last smile before taking his leave, and Ella was left slightly stunned. She couldn't place where else she'd seen the good-looking boy, but it definitely wasn't the papers. She shrugged it off after a while, though, before beginning to close the store up for the night.

* * *

Dallas jerked awake in bed, perspiration dampening his body. He sat up quickly, pushing the covers off of himself, before reaching for his cigarettes with an unsteady hand. His lit up, leaning forward to push the window open more, allowing the chilly air to cool his fevered skin. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was a little after two in the morning. This shit needed to stop, and soon.

The hood didn't understand why he was having dreams about the night Johnny died, or when he was shot down by the fuzz the same night nearly three months ago. He'd been fine, or so he thought, but suddenly, he found himself waking up all hours of the night after those awful memories would plague his mind in the form of dreams.

It was fucking ridiculous.

He wasn't one to believe in messages or signs or any of that garbage, but ever since he'd found that fucking poem— _that stupid fucking poem_ —the dreams had started. Now, Dallas wasn't one to scare easily, especially not with mind bullshit, but he was perplexed. He couldn't understand why it was happening, or why it had started so sporadically, and what he didn't understand, he didn't like.

After finishing off his cigarette, Dallas made his way downstairs in search of a beer; he needed something to take the edge off, and a decent dose of alcohol was sure to do the trick.

He guzzled down a bottle of Bud, before heading back up to his room. Squinting in the darkness, he was able to make out a few strays that had gotten knocked out from either drinking too much, or from getting their teeth kicked in. He absently wondered if this would be a good time to roll a few of them, when he saw a shadow move outside by the windows.

Buck had taken to closing the place early on week days—twelve o'clock to be exact—and he had made sure to lock up once everyone was out. He was never concerned with doing so, until last month when he was robbed blind during the night by a group of punks that wandered inside while he was asleep. After that, the cowboy was strict about locking doors and windows after hours.

Dallas moved forward, ready to whip out his blade, as he opened the door and turned the porch light on. He came face to face with a woman who was shaking profusely, her lips a shade that couldn't be healthy. The blond eyed her coolly for a moment, wondering what in the fuck she was doing out there.

She clutched her pathetic excuse for a jacket tighter around herself, eyes wide with shock and fear.

"The hell are you up to, lady?" he bit out, taking a step forward, a bitter expression on his face.

He realized there were tears in her eyes, then. "I left my purse inside, and I didn't realize it until it was too late." Her voice shook. "I was halfway to my house and walked all the way back, but it was closed, so I've been waiting out here."

Dally looked at her as if she had a bolt loose. He considered letting her freeze her ass off out there in the cold—it's not like her problems affected him in the slightest. He didn't care about her or her fucking stupidity.

He took a closer look at her. She was roughly a few years older than him, but there was something in her eyes that made her appear younger at the same time.

"How long you been out here?" he asked, ashy brows drawing together.

She shrugged. "M-Maybe an hour?" She looked at him pleadingly. "If I tell you what my bag looks like, would you be able to get it, please?" Her eyes became imploring. "I-I'll pay you."

Glory, Dallas thought with contempt, this one was pathetic. He fancied the idea of taking her money and leaving her out there—money laying out in the open like that was just begging to be lifted by the likes of him. What did it matter, though?

As his gaze shifted back to the lady, he realized that she was looking at him like he could be some kind of hero, like he would actually be _willing_ to help her out.

The hood sneered in return, wishing he'd never gotten out of bed in the first place.

He wouldn't retrieve her shit for her, so, opening the door a bit wider, he beckoned her inside, before telling her to get her own crap and make sure to lock up on the way out, unless she needed a place to lay over, and in that case, he was certain Buck wouldn't mind . . . not that much anyway.

Still, he was nobody's fucking hero.

 _Hey, hey, hey, that's what I say_

 _I can't get no, I can't get no_

 _I can't get no satisfaction_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for the reviews and feedback! I appreciate it all so much!**

 **Did Ella just make a mistake with Craig? Let me know what you think! :3**


	18. A Little Colder

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Beatles own "Hey Jude."**

* * *

 _And anytime you feel the pain_

 _Hey, Jude, refrain_

 _Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

 **December 16, 1965**

Ponyboy stood in the library early Thursday morning making a copy of his theme in its entirety so that he could send it in to Mr. Franklin. It would take him a few days at a time to manage the whole thing since it was long, so he figured he would attempt two chapters or so a day. He also didn't want Mrs. Hughes to scold him for using up all the paper and ink, either.

The greaser sighed, patiently waiting for a page from chapter two to finish printing out. He was nearly there—only four more pages to go.

"Hey, grease ball," a voice said from behind him.

Ponyboy jerked around to see both George and Craig standing there watching him intently with cruel smiles plastered across their lips.

The younger teen immediately jammed his fists in his pockets, slouching slightly. "What do you want?"

His voice came out cool, tough, and he narrowed his eyes a bit. He had absolutely no problem fighting anyone anywhere or anytime, and if George Clayton wanted to start with him again, then that was just fine with him. He suddenly remembered Darry's words, though, and decided to keep his cool instead.

George took a step forward, keeping that snide expression intact. "What are you doing all by your lonesome, greaser? Don't you know it's not safe for your kind to walk alone, even in school?"

Ponyboy wondered why George was starting with him again; he hadn't bothered with him in weeks, so why now?

"I didn't know you owned the building," he replied sarcastically.

George took a step forward, eyeing the younger boy bitterly. "You know, I still don't think you should be allowed here. In fact, I think it's a pity you weren't placed in jail for being an accessory to murder." Another step. "It's a shame Bob didn't just finish the job."

At those words, Ponyboy's hand instantaneously reached for the blade in his back pocket. It occurred to him that he wasn't really thinking, that he could have—had he actually pulled it out—killed George if he wanted to, but something else distracted him, pulling his attention elsewhere.

Craig leaped forward, whacking the teen's papers off the counter, sending them flying across the floor. He barely heard the younger boy yell as he tore a few pages from his composition book in half, including the cover, before dropping it on the floor with the rest of his scattered work.

George gave him a shove. "Have fun cleaning up, greaser!" And then he and Craig left, leaving him standing there with a dumbstruck expression.

Ponyboy gathered up his papers quickly, before reaching for his torn journal. Luckily, only the first few pages were ripped apart, but Ponyboy felt his heart sink as he stared at them, flipping through the mess with a numb feeling.

Well, there went his work. At least he had the copies, but now he would have to make more of them just so he had his own again. With a sigh, he stuffed the copies inside the back of the journal, hoping he was able to salvage some of his original writing.

* * *

Ella tapped her pencil against her desk, wishing she was anywhere but there. She hadn't been able to concentrate on her school work lately, and she was growing antsy. She could barely pay attention to Mr. Monroe's voice buzzing about the Civil War that morning, and she'd nearly fallen asleep.

The only thing keeping her occupied were her thoughts about her ill mother, Craig, and her guilt-ridden conscious over ditching Dallas the day prior. She'd tried to talk to Craig that morning in biology, but all he wanted to do was take her out. Unfortunately, Ella's attitude had gotten the better of her, and she'd accidentally went off on Craig.

Of course, she had apologized immediately, but Craig simply told her they would talk later, which only made her feel terrible. Glory, she wasn't sure that day, or week, could get any worse, and the week wasn't even over yet.

"Miss Mitchell," Mr. Monroe called as the bell rang. "Would you mind staying behind for a moment?"

Grabbing her belongings, the brown-haired girl followed her teacher over to his desk. He gave her a serious look, before motioning to a stack of quizzes he'd given the class a few days ago. Glancing back at her, Ella realized that he seemed very displeased.

"Ella, you're currently failing my class," he said. "You've failed both quizzes this week as well as the test we had last week. This isn't like you."

The teen felt her stomach beginning to twist. "I know, I just— I have a lot going on, Mr. Monroe. Is there any chance that I could retake the test?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied, and then sighed. "But I will offer you a chance to bring your grade up. If you write me a decent essay on the Civil War, I'll raise your grade."

Ella simply nodded, thanking the older man as she exited the classroom. She felt sick, wondering how she could be failing a class; she'd never gotten below a B in all her life. Her teacher was right—this wasn't like her, not at all.

She figured he had cut her a break, though, and she was going to take every opportunity she could get at the moment. She needed to get back on track with her studies, as well as balance out her work schedule, too.

* * *

Dallas strolled down the hallway in search of Ella. He had plans to deal with her after her little stunt the day before. The hood hadn't forgiven her for standing him up, making him out to be some kind of moron while she went off without having the balls to tell him she wouldn't be showing up that afternoon.

He didn't give a shit what her excuse was, either. In his eyes, she had fucked him over, and Dallas didn't like being made a fool of. He'd had enough of her bullshit that week as it was, what with her constant change of plans, her fucking attitude . . . he was done. Her bailing out was just the icing on the cake for the blond.

He found her at her locker with Fish Eyes, seeming to be arguing about something. Dally couldn't make out what the two were going off about, but Ella seemed to be upset while her boyfriend was flailing his arms around like an idiot. He thought the situation was quite interesting, wondering just what was going on between the two—not that he truly cared.

The towheaded teen watched the bickering couple for another minute or so, before Fish Eyes stalked off, leaving his girlfriend looking like she was just slapped in the mouth. Well, good, he thought as he made his way toward her; now it was his fucking turn.

Before Ella even had a chance to see his approaching presence, the hood slammed her locker closed, glaring down at her with such contempt, she thought he might slug her. His blue eyes were icy, piercing, an anger directed at her. Unfortunately, she didn't have the energy to argue with whatever he was going to say to her, and she knew whatever it was, she deserved. Besides, Dallas wasn't known for going easy on those who messed with him—quite the opposite actually.

"You got a fucking problem or what?" he bit out, jaw turning white from how hard his teeth were grinding together. He was tense, ready to rip her apart.

Ella blinked, glancing up at the blond. She wasn't sure what to say to him, how to apologize, and she knew he wouldn't accept it either way. Glory, she wasn't having a good day, and she wasn't sure there was anything that could make it better. Craig had previously made things worse on her; apparently, her not wanting to go with him and his friends after school that afternoon had upset him.

She hadn't meant to anger her boyfriend, but she needed to check in on her mother before she went to work that evening. At least Jan was back to keep her company, and she didn't have to close that night, either, which she was glad for.

"I'm sorry," she all but mumbled, unsure if Dallas had actually heard her. Lordy, she didn't know how many times she had uttered those words that day.

"Sorry?" he repeated. Dallas sneered, and the girl took a step back, eyes wide. "You're fucking sorry?"

The hood couldn't believe it. That's all she could fucking say to him? No lame excuse, no attempting to do . . . anything? Well, Jesus Christ. He thought her more fiery than that, especially with the way she had yelled at him that one day last week.

But when he actually looked at her, he realized that she appeared completely drained. There were fucking tears in her eyes for Christ's sake; golly, she was a sissy, pathetic at best.

Ella shrugged. "That's what I said. I'm—"

"Save it," he said, cutting her off. "Meet in the damn parking lot after school. I got a fucking test that I gotta pass and yer gonna help me, savvy?" He gave her a hard stare. "You don't show and we're done."

He brushed past her, his arm knocking against her shoulder. Ella stood there, using the back of her sleeve to wipe her eyes. She hadn't missed the underlying threat in Dallas's words—he would go to Mr. Davis just to get over on her if she didn't comply, and judging from her own current grades, she knew there would be no way to save herself.

* * *

"Where's Steve been?" Ponyboy asked, munching on a candy bar. "He doesn't show up for lunch no more, and he leaves school early sometimes."

Two-Bit shrugged lethargically. "He's been trying to take extra shifts at work during the day, I guess. Said somethin' about it last week."

"Oh," the younger teen replied, looking at his friend's work over his shoulder. "Soda has been workin' a lot more, too." He frowned. "I know he and Darry aren't telling me somethin', and I'm pretty sure it's got something to do with the bills."

The older boy cocked an eyebrow. "Now whatever gave ya that idea?"

It was Pony's turn to shrug, his eyes flickering to the floor as he responded. "Well, with Darry only working one real job, I know it ain't enough, even with Soda's income, to pay everything." He sighed, a frown on his lips. "Darry's been lookin' for more work."

Two-Bit merely blinked. He knew that the Curtis family had been struggling with money before, but he didn't know it had gotten this bad. Glory, he'd been spending so much time on school work just to stay and graduate that he hadn't payed attention to his friends. The older greaser felt sick at the thought of something happening to the brothers, and his heart seemed to sink in his gut.

"Gee, Ponyboy," he said, scratching the back of his neck, "I wish I knew what to say."

The younger boy gave a half smile. "It's fine, Two-Bit. It ain't a big deal."

"Sure."

"You know where Dally is?"

At that question, the rusty-haired greaser sat up, eyes searching around the library for their friend. "He was supposed to meet us here for lunch, right?"

"I thought so."

After a minute, Two-Bit leaned back in the chair. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it, kid. You know how Dally is anyway."

Ponyboy nodded. "Maybe he drove Steve to work."

"That's right!" Two-Bit said, grinning widely as he snapped his fingers together. "Steve told me this morning that he was gonna ask ol' Dal to drive him in." He gave a light laugh. "Shoot, kid, all this school work has me real screwed up."

The younger boy laughed.

* * *

Craig hadn't bothered to meet up with Ella after school at her locker like usual, and she wondered if he was really that upset with her. Sure, she had been rearranging her schedule quite frequently the last two weeks, but it was only due to Jan being absent from work and her mother's illness. She had explained that to Craig numerous times, and he'd always said he understood.

He had been so patient with her, so compassionate, but now she didn't understand what she'd done wrong. Either way, she had to go home after school and check on her mother. Her worry had been growing much deeper, and she knew that her mother needed more medical attention—there was something else wrong besides a "bad flu."

Her stomach was flipping as she made her way out to the parking lot in search of Dallas, hoping that he wouldn't give her anymore of an attitude, even though she knew she deserved it. Still, she apologized earlier, not that it was enough, but that wasn't the point. She was sorry, and she meant it. She just didn't have it in her that day to fight back.

The brown-haired girl spotted the hood easily, as he stuck out more than most of the other students. It wasn't even that there was anything remotely interesting about him or his appearance, either, but there was some intensity that emitted off of him, drawing people in; it was almost magnetic.

She didn't greet him like usual that day, merely sliding into the passenger seat as he started the vehicle and pulled out of the lot. They were both silent while he drove, Ella unsure of what to say, and Dallas too pissed to start up a conversation, even if only to mock her. He'd glanced at her several times, though, but made no inclination that he wanted to talk.

Dallas didn't bother getting food that day, instead driving straight to their usual spot. He rolled the windows down, before cutting the engine and lighting up a smoke. He could practically feel Ella's urge to speak radiating off of her, so he turned in her direction with a glare.

She simply cleared her throat, refusing to meet his eyes. "What do you need help with?" When he didn't answer her right away, she licked her lips nervously. "Which class are you having the test in?"

The blond blew some smoke in her face. "Math."

Ella nodded slowly, reaching for her math book, nerves on edge. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she flipped through the book in an attempt to remember where they'd left off. It took her a minute or so, but when she found the section, she passed the book off to him along with the notebook she'd been letting him use.

The two worked in silence for a while, Ella explaining some problems to Dallas here and there before returning her attention to her own work. She was growing frustrated, though, especially with Mr. Monroe's voice echoing in her mind about her failing grade. She couldn't think of a way to start her essay, and she was getting annoyed with the whole damn thing.

Usually, she never had a problem with school work, but the girl was beginning to feel the toll of her own troubles gnawing at her. Mostly, she was exhausted, stressed, and upset, but she knew she would find a way to get out of it—she needed to sit back and concentrate, work out her troubles. With a sigh, she folded her books shut and closed her eyes for a minute to clear her mind, that is, until Dallas's voice interrupted her.

"The hell is wrong with you?" he questioned, though he didn't sound curious at all. He sounded like he was annoyed.

"Nothing," Ella answered, cracking her eyes open as she looked at him. "I'm clearing my head, if that's alright with you."

Dallas snorted. "Like there's actually anything up there."

The girl glared, clearly infuriated. "Be quiet, Dallas."

She knew the comeback was weak, extremely so, especially for being directed at a guy like him. Still, it was the best she had at that particular moment, and she didn't want to piss him off, either. No, she'd already done that, even though those thoughts were starting to reason out. Now she remembered clearly why it hadn't affected her so much in the beginning to go along with Craig.

Dallas, however, didn't "be quiet."

"Oh, be quiet, Dallas," he repeated snidely, scrunching his face up like an immature child. "Oh, my, I'm so scared, I'm shaking. Whatever shall I do?"

Ella would have found the behavior somewhat comical any other time but then. Instead, it only made her more angrier, and she ground her teeth as her nostrils flared out, her breathing becoming heavier as she attempted to keep her cool.

The blond took immediate pleasure in her discomfort. "What's the matter, _sweets?_ Wishin' you was out fooling around with your boyfriend?" His smile was cutting. "What's his name again, Craig?" He began making inappropriate gestures at the girl as he continued on. "Oooh, Craig . . ."

She'd had enough. "That's it! We're done."

"I ain't."

Ella grabbed her books from where he'd placed them, shoving them and her own work inside her bag, everything she had been feeling finally surfacing. Winston's comments had driven her there, and now she wanted nothing more than to get home, away from him and everyone else.

"Glory," Dallas muttered in a harsh tone. "When did you turn into such a bitch?"

And that's when the girl had snapped. Before she could even process what she was doing, her hand had already made contact with the hood's face as she slapped him good and hard right across the mouth. A silence fell over both of them for only a few seconds; the impact of Ella's hand had only moved him a bit, as it was unexpected, but his expression hadn't changed.

But then something in his blue eyes shifted, a look that Ella certainly did _not_ like. Before she had the chance to react, Dallas Winston had done one of the cruelest things he could to her. He dove forward across the seat, before smashing his lips against hers. He didn't like her, not in the least, but he knew the stunt would hurt her severely, and boy, did he kiss her to do just that.

Ella, for all her worth, was shocked, bewildered, and mortified. It took her a moment to register what was going on, but when she did, she pushed him away, nearly biting his lip in the process. The girl sat there completely still, numb like, senses uncooperative.

And then she looked at Dallas's satisfied smirk, tears forming in her eyes. "I hate you."

Those were the only words she mumbled before running out of the car, leaving the blond behind with a cool expression.

* * *

Soda walked around the back of the DX while wiping his hands on a rag before adjusting his hat. It was godawful chilly outside where he'd been working the pumps for the last few hours. He needed the extra time to get the money, though, so he didn't complain about where Benny—his boss—told him to go. At least Steve was working more hours, too, so he wasn't always alone, not that it had ever bothered him before.

Tossing the rag back into the bucket, Soda noticed a lone figure headed in his direction, a grin forming on his face when he realized that it was Ponyboy.

"Hey, Pone!" he called excitedly, walking halfway to meet the younger boy. "What are ya doin' here?"

Pony shrugged. "Figured I'd take a walk, I guess. Besides, fresh air does me good."

Soda chuckled. "Sure, kiddo. How was school?"

"Fine."

The older boy stopped, stepping in front of his kid brother with a concerned look. He didn't like the tone in his brother's voice, one he was unfortunately growing used to—sadness.

"What's wrong, Ponyboy?"

"It ain't nothin' like that," came the response, the younger teen glancing up at him. "I was just thinking, you know, about you and Darry, and everything."

Well, that was mostly the truth, he thought. He had been thinking about his family's financial issues since earlier that day when he'd mentioned it to Two-Bit. The thought of his brother over-working just to keep a roof over their heads was upsetting him. Of course, Ponyboy understood, but he didn't have to like it.

It simply wasn't fair that Darry and Soda worked themselves to the bone just to make a living for the three of them, but that's just the way things were, he supposed. Like Two-Bit would say, though, like it or lump it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Soda inquired, brown eyes focused on him.

And then Ponyboy sighed. "Soda, is Darry okay with the bills?"

His older brother stared at him for a moment. He didn't want to have this conversation, not then at least, but he had to say something, lest his worrying become worse. Ever since Ponyboy had gotten sick back in September, Darry and Soda had been easier on him, especially with his mental fragility. Still, he was a tough kid, and he didn't need anyone babying him.

"We're fine, Ponyboy," he decided to say, and gave him a one-of-a-kind grin. "Don't you worry about that, ya hear? Darry an' me . . . we got this, savvy?"

And for a moment, he believed his own words.

* * *

Ella made it through her shift. She felt sick, even worse than she had started out with that morning. In fact, she felt more terrible than she had in quite a long time. Even Jan's company wasn't enough to truly console her, but she had put on a brave face and went about her work like nothing was wrong.

She hadn't meant to slap Dallas, but in her mind, what he'd done in return was much worse. It made her feel like she needed to bleach her mouth out or something. She'd spent her entire walk to the store wiping at her mouth where his lips had made contact with hers. Glory, even the thought made her feel disgusted.

The worst part of it all was that she'd wanted Craig to be her first kiss, but now that was ruined, and she couldn't find Dallas Winston more revolting than she did then. She was officially done with him; she had plans to see Mrs. Philips the next morning about finding him a new tutor.

Ella entered her house quietly, hoping not to disturb her mother if she was asleep. She placed her bags on the table along with the mail, before making her way down the hallway to check on her. When she had come home earlier, the woman had been awake, eating some of the leftover food Ella had set out for her that morning; all she had to do was heat it up.

As expected, Frances Mitchell was sound asleep. Ella carefully cracked her bedroom door, before she headed back out to the kitchen in search of food. She spent the last few hours chewing gum to get the horrid taste of Dallas's mouth off her lips. Even though she was certain it was gone, she felt like she could still taste the smoke from his breath, or feel his skin against hers.

A shiver went down her spine.

She'd considered telling Craig, but she knew he would merely just tell her that he'd warned her in the first place, and the last thing she wanted was for him to go after the reckless hood. No, she needed a better solution—one which didn't involve violence.

Pouring herself a bowl of soup, Ella sat down at the table to eat while sorting the mail. The envelope on top caught her eye, causing her gut to tighten. It was the medical bill. The girl's heart began beating faster as she skimmed over the cost of the last house visit from Dr. Williams, as well as the medicine he had prescribed.

She sighed, eyes shifting to her paycheck that she'd just gotten that evening; it would just cover the expenses, but not everything else, like the first two visits that she was working to pay off, and certainly not their upcoming electric bill.

Ella rubbed her hands over her forehead, a deep sigh escaping her lips. She wanted nothing more than to just go to bed, to forget everything that had taken place the last few weeks. In fact, she wished that she could simply go back and restart the school year, hopefully not being the one picked to tutor Dallas.

A disgusting thought crossed her mind as she thought about Dallas. For an impulsive, violent, and cruel hood, he had terribly soft, though slightly chapped, lips.

The girl immediately pushed her food away as she headed back to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

 _For well you know that it's a fool_

 _Who plays it cool_

 _By making his world a little colder_

* * *

 **Thank you for the lovely reviews! They're always appreciated! :3**


	19. Raise Hell

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Dorothy owns "Raise Hell."**

* * *

 _Young blood, run like a river_

 _Young blood, never get chained_

 _Young blood, heaven need a sinner_

 _You can't raise hell with a saint_

 **December 24, 1965**

Dallas sat in The Dingo chowing on lunch, a relieved expression on his face as he practically scarfed down his food. Glory, he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten anything, well, a _meal_ at least. But here he was on a Friday afternoon at one of the most reckless restaurants in the area, munching contently on a burger, or three.

The blond was glad that it had been half days of school that week, since it was the holidays and all, but other than that, he was fucking ecstatic for the week long vacation from that hell hole. He suddenly remembered why Ponyboy would get so excited around this time of year—no fucking school. He could finally go around and catch up on the shit that he was far behind on.

Tim Shepard slid into the seat across from him with a menacing glint in his blue irises. Dally glanced across the booth at him with a raised brow. Seems that ol' Shepard and him had been having a lot of run-ins at this place, not that he considered that great or anything.

"Whatta ya want, Shepard?"

Tim smirked casually. "I was wonderin' if you had any plans for tonight . . ."

Dally rolled his eyes. "For what?"

The look the older hood was giving him right then could only mean one thing—trouble. Of course, Dallas was always up for any kind of trouble, but something in his gut was twisting, nagging him that whatever Tim wanted couldn't be good, not that it ever was.

Normally, the two of them working together on any kind of job was always tense. They got along, sure, but both of them were natural born leaders, and they rivaled like two snarling dogs in a pack.

"Well," the dark-haired teen began, "I hear there's gonna be a little Christmas Eve party over on the West side tonight, and I was thinking a little visit was in order." He grinned. "It's gonna be all those upper class phonies, you know, beer blasts an' all."

Dallas simply stared. "Where'd ya hear this?"

"A little birdy."

He hummed in response, reaching for a fry. "So, who's goin'?"

Tim grinned. "A few guys from my gang, some others, too." A chuckle. "Hell, this would be right up Curly's alley, but that little shit won't be outta the cooler 'til March."

Leaning back in the booth, Dallas stretched out, intentionally kicking the older hood under the table as he stared at him with a grim smile. He had wondered what would have happened if he ended up in Shepard's gang before meeting the Curtis family. Golly, he was certain he would be worse off, but he wouldn't have met Johnny . . . fucking punk would probably still be alive.

He shoved those thoughts aside.

"So, ya gonna tell me where the place is, or you want me to play a guessing game?" he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tim grinned widely, almost looking like an alley cat. "Thought you'd never ask. Let's go for a ride."

* * *

The last few days had been going much better for Ella. Her mother, though still sick, was doing well on her medication, Craig and her had made up, and Dallas wasn't in the picture anymore. She hadn't seen the hood since last Thursday, and she couldn't be more happy with that. She never forgave him for what he'd done to her, and she was positive that she never would.

The girl hadn't mentioned the incident to Craig, especially after he apologized to her in school the next day for not being more sympathetic with her personal issues. Of course, she had forgiven him immediately, and she didn't want to spoil his mood by informing him about Dallas Winston, so she laid the incident to rest and didn't think about it.

With Jan back at the store, Ella's hours were regular again, which was easier on her, but meant that she wouldn't make enough money in time to cover the bills. Her mother told her not to worry about it, or she would drive herself nuts. Unfortunately, Frances Mitchell was too late with that advice. Either way, though, Ella was glad that nonsense was over and done with.

She worked four hours that afternoon at the store. She wanted to do some light Christmas shopping before heading home; she had already gotten her mother a gift, but she hadn't bought Craig anything just yet, and she wanted to surprise him with it that night at George's Christmas party.

Apparently, his parents were away until tomorrow afternoon—Christmas—so he was throwing a party for kicks. Craig was going, of course, and had invited her a few weeks back.

Ella was excited, terribly so, as she'd never really gone to parties before.

What she wasn't expecting right then, though, was to nearly walk straight into Ponyboy Curtis, who was headed to the movie house. The two practically collided into each other as they rounded a corner, and Ella chuckled as she remembered the last time they had actually done so.

"Ponyboy," she greeted, a smile on her lips.

His cheeks turned a shade. "Hey, Ella."

"We've got to stop running into each other like this," she teased, smirking at the comment as the younger teen let out a short laugh.

"Yeah, well, I should probably watch where I'm walking," he replied, pushing his hands inside his pockets. "My oldest brother always tells me that I don't use my head."

The brown-haired girl merely grinned. "Well, I suppose I should look up more when I walk." A shrug. "I guess I feel like I'm drawing attention that way or something."

Ponyboy nodded. "So, how have you been?"

"Alright," she answered. "You?"

"Alright."

The younger teen watched her carefully for a moment, a blank expression on his face. He was trying to discreetly find out what had happened between her and Dallas that made the hood ask _him_ for help with school work.

He'd been tutoring Two-Bit last Friday morning when Dally intruded on them and asked for help with math work, going on about some stupid quiz he had that day. When he inquired about Ella, the hood shrugged it off and told him that he would beat his head in if he brought that broad up, or mentioned the fact that he was there for school assistance.

Ponyboy hadn't seen Ella around school lately, but that was because he'd been busy with his own work, along with helping _both_ Two-Bit and Dallas. He had also been dealing with George Clayton's crap again, but it was just him, Craig Bryant, and Kevin Rogers saying stuff to him—there hadn't been any other incidents like the one last Thursday morning.

Talking to Ella Mitchell only reminded the greaser that _her_ boyfriend was one of the guys who was giving him trouble, and he wasn't sure if he should mention that fact to her or not.

Something told him that he should, but on the other hand, he didn't want to. He didn't really know her well enough, and the idea of discussing her boyfriend with her seemed rather odd.

So he didn't.

"You know," Ella began, breaking the silence, "I met your brother last week. Sodapop?"

Ponyboy grinned. "Yeah, he told me. He found the run-in quite comical, I guess. Said he remembered seeing you at Buck's place a while back."

Ella felt her eyes widen for a second, before she feigned a smile. "Oh, right!"

In truth, she didn't really recall seeing Soda at Buck's roadhouse, but as she thought about it for a good moment, she _did_ remember Dallas Winston chatting with somebody, a decent looking fellow, before he'd taken off with Sylvia Evans; perhaps that fellow had been Soda Curtis.

"I was just on my way to the movie house," Ponyboy remarked, attempting to keep his cool. "If you're not busy, want to come with?"

He wasn't sure why he asked, but he was unsure of what to say. On the other hand, he felt awfully weird going to see a movie, as they constantly reminded him of his theme and that awful week back in early September.

Usually, he loned going by himself, but he longed for some company, too, even though it was mostly so he didn't have to go inside by himself—too many memories would creep up on him that he didn't want to think about.

"Sure," Ella replied with a nod. "I'd love to."

At first, the girl wasn't sure that he'd meant it, that he offered just to be polite, but she liked the kid well enough and didn't want to make him feel bad. She remembered Craig's warning about the younger boy weeks back, but she was certain, regardless of what happened between him and George Clayton, that he wasn't a threat to her.

Ponyboy was relieved and shocked that Ella had agreed to go with him. He remembered the first time he'd spoke to her, thinking that she was rather unpleasant when she really wasn't; she just appeared unpleasant with the severity of her looks, as if she didn't know the meaning of fun.

Then again, Ponyboy supposed that he didn't look all that thrilling, either, in terms of personality, but he didn't really mind his appearance that much anymore. He just missed his hair, even though it was growing back to its original shade of red-brown.

As he and Ella fell in step on their walk to the movie house, Ponyboy realized that the silence between them was actually comfortable.

* * *

"Turn right here," Tim directed, and pointed at a large house on the corner of the street. "Right there, that's the house."

Dally scoped the area, pursing his lips. "Who's the sucker throwing the damn thing?"

"George Clayton."

The younger teen immediately recalled the name, a bitter smirk forming on his lips. Oh, this was too good to be true, he thought with triumph. Now this was a good fucking way to get back at the shit head inconspicuously for messing around with Ponyboy.

Yeah, sure, Two-Bit and Steve had given him a message, but now it was Dally's job to take care of it, and what better way than to crash his little party?

Well, it _was_ a Christmas party, right? No harm in offering a little surprise present of his own. Besides, wasn't that part of the holiday spirit?

"What'd ya have in mind?"

Tim stretched in the seat. "Oh, don't worry, Winston. Nothin' that will get your schoolboy ass in any trouble with the fuzz . . . unless you was caught."

The blond rolled his eyes. "Cut the shit, Shepard. What's the fucking plan?"

A few minutes past as the dark-haired hood laid out his plan for the night. Now, Tim Shepard was noted for his usual glorious schemes, like that one time a few years back when he, Dallas, Two-Bit Mathews, and some other guy, Dennis Wilde, blew a tin roof off a trailer in downtown Tulsa that belonged to a Mexican drug lord who owed Tim some dough for "taking care" of a guy.

Yeah, Tim Shepard was a crazy fucker, and with Dallas Winston and Two-Bit Mathews added to mix, you had a volcano about to erupt. Compared to what he had done in the past, his plan for tonight was cake.

As the two drove back toward the East side, Tim started in on a new topic. "Ya know, I ain't seen your girl around."

"Which one we talkin' about?"

Tim shot him a look. "Fuckin' Sylvia. Heard some shit 'bout that little broad going around. Supposedly, she's knocked up or some bullshit. The guy she's been messin' around with dropped her when she told him, and he's spreading around that she cheated on him."

Dallas glared, eyes narrowing. He remembered Sylvia coming to him that night back in November to tell him about her pregnancy; glory but could that girl fucking cry. He honestly didn't know what to think about the situation, but he felt . . . somewhat sorry for her. It was her problem, though, and she had to live with it.

Still, he didn't particularly like the fact that some fucking guy was trashing her, either. He knew he'd done it many times in the past, but something in his gut twisted at Tim's words, and he found himself more hacked off than he realized.

"What's the name?"

Tim raised a dark brow. "Chris Jones. Some wannabe thug who lives over by The Ribbon."

And that was all he needed.

* * *

Ponyboy and Ella hardly uttered a word to each other as they exited the movie house that evening. It wasn't that either of them were put off with the others presence, but they were comfortable enough that neither had to say anything to make a difference. Unbeknownst to them, though, was the fact that they both felt that way.

As they walked along the sidewalk, Ella glanced at Ponyboy. "You see Dallas around?"

The younger teen's green eyes flickered in her direction as he nodded. "Yeah, in school mostly. How come?"

She shrugged, pushing her hands inside her coat pockets for warmth. "Well, I don't know if he told you or not, but I haven't been tutoring him lately."

Ella wasn't exactly sure why she'd relayed that information to Ponyboy, but some part of her, even if it was Dallas's fault that she'd left, felt a bit bad. She hadn't forgiven him for what he had done to her, and she was sure as heck not going to divulge _that_ to Ponyboy.

"Why not?"

"We just . . . got into a disagreement is all, I suppose." She shook her head as she remembered that afternoon last Thursday. "Haven't seen him since."

Ponyboy nodded in understanding. "Oh. Well, Dal is like that. He doesn't really—" He paused, unsure of how to explain the older boy to her. "He'd leave you alone more if you weren't his tutor."

He wasn't quite certain that had made sense, but Ella only smiled in return. Besides, you took up for your buddies no matter what, and even though Ponyboy was getting along with Ella and thought she was an okay girl, Dally was still his friend first and foremost. That's just the way things were.

"Is he always grouchy, though?" came the unexpected question.

Ponyboy grinned in spite of himself. "Mostly, but he's a cool ol' guy once you get to know him." And that was the truth, he thought, even if he often found himself annoyed with the hood. He stopped at the intersection. "Look, I don't know everything that happened with y'all, but could you give him another chance? I know he's . . . hard to deal with, but—"

"I'll think about it," Ella answered quickly. "It just might take some time is all."

The younger teen had a feeling there was more to the story than what she'd previously said, but he knew it wasn't really any of his business, either. As the two parted ways, Ella found herself wondering if she would ever be able to give Dallas Winston another chance, because he didn't deserve anything from her as far as she was concerned.

* * *

If Ella was honest with herself at that particular moment, she wasn't truly enjoying herself. George was a considerable host, even half drunk, and Craig was a wonderful boyfriend, but Ella felt as if something was missing, as if she was alone in a crowd of people who were blinded by everything around them.

She wondered why she was even there, though she had been previously excited to go. Now that she'd been there for nearly two hours, the feeling of enjoyment was washed away.

Craig was talking to some guys in another room, but he had checked in on her several times, even staying with her for a while so she wasn't alone. Of course, she had conversed with a few of the other girls around her, upper class girls dressed in elegant gowns, who had there hair and nails done just right, emphasizing their beauty.

Ella felt a bit out of place in her own apparel, although it was decent. She had adorned a long-sleeved, black dress that was loose but looked good all the same; the darkness against her pale and freckled complexion practically made her stand out.

She hadn't bothered to overdo herself that night, but her mother had been able to help style her hair in perfect wavy curls that flowed nicely down her back. It was probably the best the girl had ever looked.

"Hey," Craig said, sitting beside her on the couch. "You alright?"

Ella nodded, smiling at him. "Yeah."

He handed her a drink. "George really knows how to throw a party, huh?"

"And invite half the school."

Craig chuckled at the comment, taking a sip of his beer. "Yeah, well, he's a popular guy, a great friend, you know?" He grinned. "He used to be good friends with Bob Sheldon."

Ella nodded slowly, nibbling on her lip. She remembered Robert Sheldon, Cherry Valance's deceased ex-boyfriend. Craig had brought the topic up only a few times to brush over the fact that Dallas Winston had aided Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade, Bob's killer, skip town after the murder.

She already knew the story, but Craig had wanted her to be aware that _both_ Winston and Curtis were accomplices, and Bob had been _his_ friend, too.

She changed the topic. "So, are you having fun?"

"Of course, El," he replied simply, putting an arm around her as he pulled her against him. "Aren't you?" And then he placed a chaste kiss against her cheek. "You sure do look lovely tonight."

She blushed. "Now I am." And then, reaching for her purse, she gave him a sincere smile, eyes shining brightly in the dim lighting. "I have something for you actually . . ."

Craig's face lit up. "Really? What?"

Ella was quick to stand, pulling her boyfriend along with her. "Come on."

The brown-haired boy followed her up the stairs to one of the empty bedrooms, closing the door behind them for privacy. He wondered what she was up to, or what she'd gotten him, a tight feeling in his gut at the thought that he hadn't gotten her anything. Of course, there was _one_ thing he could offer her . . .

"Here," she said, handing him a long black box.

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity, pulling the ribbon off along with the top. His eyes widened as he saw the brand new watch inside, something he'd mentioned to her a while back that he'd wanted.

"El, this is fantastic," he said, a large smile on his lips. "Thanks!" And then he pulled his senior class ring off his finger, eyeing the jewel carefully as he passed it to her. "I know it isn't much, but Merry Christmas, El."

"Merry Christmas," she replied, pushing her nerves down as she leaned forward slowly. She wanted to kiss him for the longest time, especially since the incident with Da— No, she didn't want to think about _him_ now, not then.

Craig picked up on her movements, leaning his face closer to hers before pressing their lips together, one hand reaching up to stroke her cheek gently, the other tangling in her hair.

* * *

Dallas sat in the passenger seat of Shepard's car, watching Clayton's house through brewing eyes. Tim was puffing on a cigarette beside him, his two cronies talking quietly in the back.

Behind his car and down a piece, Two-Bit Mathews and Steve Randle sat with Dennis Wilde, waiting for one of their signals to get started.

Tim glanced at the clock. "You boys about ready?"

Dally grinned lethally, sharp teeth seeming to glint in the dark. Oh, glory, it had been too long since he had any fun involving Socs, especially Soc _parties_. He could hear some of them hollering in the backyard, the music not too loud, but projected enough that it was faint in the distance. He was ready alright, a bit _too_ ready.

Tim had a well thought out plan, to head on in and surprise the fuckers, but Dally had another idea that he wanted to add, one that involved fireworks, and one that Tim couldn't turn down. For a bunch of rough-nosed hoods, the two surely had some humorous concocted misshapes.

Speaking of which . . .

"Let's go," Tim ordered, opening his door and tossing his cigarette out as he stood up. He motioned to the fireworks in Dally's hands. "You and Randle better not screw this up."

Dally rolled his eyes, beckoning Steve over. Tim and his two boys split up with their own set of junk while Two-Bit went to take care of the inside.

It was quite a site to see a greasy guy like Mathews scaling the side of a house just to enter through the second story balcony, trying to support some of his own supplies—supplies like Limburger cheese to stuff in the vent, a jock strap to toss in the punch bowl, and other assorted goodies for the party, not to mention the eggs for the cars and exterior of the house that Dennis Wilde was taking care of.

Meanwhile, Dallas and Steve worked around the opposite side of the house from Shepard's crew, maneuvering around bushes and trees in the dark, placing the rockets a few feet from each other; the sight would have been comical, had anyone been able to see them. All they waited for was either Mathews or Wilde to give them the signal to ignite the bastards.

And they didn't wait long.

From inside, the sound of glass shattering could be heard, followed by people beginning to yell. Dallas knew immediately that Two-Bit had been caught. Steve shot him a look, probably wondering if either of them should head inside and help their friend, but that thought quickly vanished when Dennis started waving at them.

Ah, there was that lovely sign that Dally had been so eagerly awaiting. He and Steve darted around, lighting the wicks as rapidly as possible, before taking off back toward the cars.

Two-Bit came barreling out the front door not even a few seconds later, laughing so hard that he was barely able to run. From all the commotion inside, the Socs who were previously outside ran inside to see what was going on. It didn't take long for the fireworks to go off around the perimeter of the house, making the yard look like the Fourth of July.

Screams could be heard from the Socs as they ran after the greasers, George Clayton in the lead, nearly tripping due to the intoxication of the alcohol he'd been consuming. Both cars peeled off into the night, leaving behind a haze of smoke and the echo of tires squealing.

Dallas, having ended up in Wilde's car, glanced over at Two-Bit. "The fuck happened in there?"

"One of the ladies scooped the strap."

* * *

Ella watched the scene below with sheer entertainment, almost unable to contain her laughter. She and Craig had been making-out when somebody—a girl—screamed from downstairs, causing the pair to pull apart in a slight panic. Craig had taken off to see what was going on when fireworks erupted from outside, the sound of them all almost deafening.

The brown-haired girl had made her way to the window, watching as George Clayton led a mob of his friends after a group of guys who piled into two cars and took off down the road. She couldn't mistake the head of white-blond hair that ran like the devil was after him toward the second vehicle, and she shook her head in wry amusement, a smile playing at her lips.

"El, you alright?" Craig asked, rushing to her side as he re-entered the room. "Come away from the window."

She gave him a confused expression. "Craig, of course I'm alright. What's wrong?"

" _What's wrong?"_ he repeated, his tone indignant. "A bunch of lowlife greasers just crashed the party and destroyed the house, cars, and property!"

"So?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "It was just some fireworks—"

He shot her a dark look. "Somebody could have gotten hurt. And besides, that's not the point." He shook his head. "It's George's house. And it wasn't _just_ fireworks, either!"

Now Ella was lost. "I understand that it's George's house, and I understand your concern as well—"

"No, you don't," he stated, cutting her off with an icy tone. He felt a shiver move down his spine as he left her there in the room. He had his own suspicions, and he was sure that George was thinking the same thing as him.

Curtis had ratted them out.

 _Baby drop them bones_

 _Baby sell that soul_

 _Heaven fare thee well_

 _Somebody gotta, gotta raise a little hell_

* * *

 **Thank you all tremendously for the reviews and feedback on this story! You guys are so absolutely wonderful, and I appreciate each and every one of you so, so much!**

 **Wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas! I hope you all have a wonderfully fantastic holiday! :3**

 **—Cat**


	20. Though Gold

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Stevie Wonder owns "Stay Gold."**

* * *

 _Again you will see_

 _That place in time_

 _So gold_

 **December 31, 1965**

" _Have you ever . . . seen a sunset?"_

" _Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold."_

" _Johnny wanted you to watch one."_

" _Yeah, well, Johnny's dead."_

" _Nothing gold can stay."_

Dallas woke up early Friday morning, his head pounding like no tomorrow. He couldn't remember how many beers he'd consumed the night prior, but he felt awfully sick now, not that he regretted any of his actions. He immediately reached for a cigarette, dabbing the sweat off his fevered skin with the shirt he wore yesterday. Glory, he needed to wash his laundry again.

Inhaling slowly, the blond leaned his head back against his dampened pillow, feeling disoriented. The dreams he'd been having were leaving him bewildered, a sickness surrounding his mind as he thought about them.

They were memories of Johnny, mostly, but sometimes they switched to Ponyboy. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like the kid was in danger, like he needed protection. Dally wasn't one to really believe in garbage like sixth senses and all that junk, but he always went with intuition.

With a sudden jolt of invigoration, the hood stood up, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray as he made his way to the bathroom to wash up and get ready for the day. He had plans, plans that he was going to see through, no matter how silly they sounded, even to him.

It didn't take long for Dallas to emerge back in the bedroom, cleaned up and changed into the last of his fresh clothes. He'd spent the last few weeks sneaking to the Curtis's house at various times of the day just to wash his laundry, not that they would mind.

He still felt weird walking into that house alone, but he preferred it that way, not ready to see the guys there like old times. He just didn't feel right being there with all of them like that.

"Up early today, huh," Buck commented from the sitting room, eyes on the morning paper.

Dally glared. "Yeah, you are, Buck. 'Bout time you moved your lazy ass."

The older cowboy ignored his snide remark. "Takin' the car?"

"And you ain't giving me any static, man," the hood said, a bitterness in his voice. He would need the car that day for the little trip he had planned to take, and Buck would end up with no teeth inside his mouth if he put up an argument.

Usually, ol' Buck was easy to get over on, but today he apparently had a stick up his ass. He stood up, dropping the paper on the table as he eyed the teen with a hard look.

"Ya know, I let you stay here for nearly nothin'," he stated, running a hand over the stubble growing in around his chin. "All I ask is for yer ass to work the bar a few nights here and there for compensation, but you think it's alright to take my damn car and do whatever you'd like without tellin' me, Winston, and I got news for ya"— He took a step forward—"I'm right done with yer bullshit."

Dallas clenched his jaw at the whiff of booze coming from the cowboy. Lord, how many fucking drinks had the guy had already? Up close, he was able to see the dilation of his pupils, the dark circles under his beady eyes, and it dawned on him that Buck hadn't been to sleep yet. Well, he could help him out with that problem, if only he dropped one more sarcastic comment.

But Buck Merril, being the dumbass drunk that he was, did one better than that. He took a swing at the blond teen, stumbling a bit as he did. Dallas barely reacted, merely belting him in the face and sending him flying back onto the couch with a _thud._ He was out cold instantly.

With a shake of his head, Dally grabbed the keys from the coffee table, a scowl on his face as he took his leave.

* * *

"Soda, let's go," Darry hollered from the kitchen. "You'll be late!"

"I can't find my hat!"

"Where'd you have it last?"

" . . . I don't know."

Ponyboy cracked a smile as he cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. Darry made sure to save a plate for Two-Bit, who was still asleep on their couch. He'd come barging in late the night before, drunk off his rocker, and being louder than what he realized.

Unbeknownst to him, he had woke the brothers, a displeased Darry whacking him upside the head and leaving him passed out on the couch. Ponyboy and Soda had tiredly returned to their shared bedroom, the incident forgotten instantly.

"Soda Patrick!" Darry called again, pushing the screen door open. "I'm waiting."

There was some kind of muffled response from the hall, followed by the screen slamming shut, which drowned out the snores coming from Two-Bit.

Ponyboy poked his head out of the kitchen, watching Darry's figure heading toward the truck from the front window. He glanced at his sleeping friend on the couch, the light of the sun falling on the tips of his red hair. Pony wondered how the older boy could sleep through all the racket, but then again, Two-Bit could sleep through a tornado undisturbed.

Opening the fridge to place the milk carton inside, the younger boy immediately rolled his eyes as he saw his brother's missing work article.

"Soda," he called, pulling the hat from the shelf. The sound of footsteps entering the kitchen alerted him of his brother's presence, and he turned to toss him the hat. "It was in the fridge."

The golden-haired teen let out a laugh. "Well, glory gee. I'm awfully—"

"Yeah, yeah," Ponyboy teased, pushing him in the living room. "Darry's in the truck."

"Aw, shoot," Soda said, grabbing his shoes and running out the door. "See ya later, Ponyboy!"

"Don't slam the"— _BANG_ —"door."

The younger teen stifled a sigh as he made his way back inside the kitchen to finish up the dishes. It didn't take him long, as Darry had cleaned his own, but Soda had been in quite the rush, leaving his setting a mess, crumbs littering his area with a few droplets of milk where he'd practically dropped his glass when Darry had told him the time.

Well, it was just the usual morning at the Curtis residence, he supposed.

Ponyboy decided that he ought to get some cleaning done around the house, but those thoughts were quickly forgotten when a horn sounded from outside. With a perplexed expression, he headed out to the porch, brows pulling together when he saw Dally Winston in the driver's seat of Buck Merril's T-Bird waving him over in front of the house.

"Put on some shoes," he called out, and then pointed a finger in his direction. "And a jacket."

It took the kid a second to move, but he rushed back in, nearly tripping over Soda's used towel that had somehow ended up in the hallway, as he walked into their bedroom to grab his jacket and tennis shoes. A few minutes later, he emerged from the house, walking toward Dallas with a nervous look, though he didn't bother to say anything until he was inside of the car.

"Where are we goin'?"

"Don't ask questions, stupid."

Ponyboy glanced up at the older boy, but did as he said, keeping his trap shut. The last thing he needed was for Dally to disconnect his neck and vertebrae, and with the way they were seated, it wouldn't be too hard for him to do just that.

* * *

Sighing deeply, Ella cleaned the mop head, her lips curled in disgust as the reminisce of tomato sauce swirled down the drain. Unfortunately, she'd been the one to clean the aisle after two rowdy boys got into a fight over something or another, sending a whole shelf tumbling down.

The floor, and other various items, were covered in the red liquid. The boys were asked to leave, leaving behind a trail of sauce all the way to the front doors.

Ella didn't mind too much, even though the cleaning was a bit gross. The mop smelled horrid, even after she'd soaked it for a bit. Deciding to give up, she simply dumped the water and tossed the head in the garbage, before going to the back of the store for her break.

Jan greeted her inside the room. "All done?"

"For now," she answered, sitting across from her and reaching for her bag. She pulled out a container of oatmeal cookies, contently taking a bite of one of the treats.

"I would have helped you, you know," Jan commented, peeling back the skin of an orange. "That mess looked terrible."

Ella shrugged. "You were needed at the register. Besides, I could handle it."

Her co-worker shot her a grin. "Well, if Miss Annie Briggs didn't call out sick all the time, I wouldn't be needed so much up front." She patted the girl's knee, eyebrows raising humorously.

"Well, she's . . . older, and—"

Jan shook her head. "Hunny, _I'm_ old, but I move my ass and work for a livin.' Annie's little man friend supports her day in and day out. That ain't no way to live." She gave her a look. "Surely, your mamma told ya that."

The teen bit her lip as she leaned back in the chair, the cookie melting behind her teeth. There was one valuable lesson that Frances Mitchell had given her, and that was to _never_ depend on anyone to support or take care of her, because it would never work out.

Ella was taught the hard way by her mother's own life that you couldn't rely on a person to be there for you for anything. Her own father had walked out on them, leaving Frances with hardly anything to her name, along with a baby who barely got enough to eat, let alone, herself.

"Believe me, she did."

The older woman swallowed a piece of her snack. "Enough of that talk. How's she doing, your mamma?"

Ella smiled a bit. "A lot better. She's gone back to work, even though the doctor told her to take it easy a few days ago."

Jan nodded. "And what about you? How's the boyfriend?"

The brown-headed girl felt her cheeks heating up as she thought about Craig, her hands automatically reaching up to play with his class ring that hung around her neck on a chain. He'd been so nice to her ever since the Christmas party the other week, apologizing several times for getting upset with her. She had forgiven him . . . after a day.

She'd spent the week with him whenever she wasn't at home or work, and all he wanted to do, or so it seemed, was make-out. Of course, she enjoyed kissing him, but he was sometimes excessive with it, so Ella had started giving him the cheek every once in a while so he'd back off, but that was mostly just to keep him on his toes.

He was good to her, though, taking her around the areas on the nicer side of town, and even involving himself in her life more than he originally had.

Golly, Craig made her head spin.

"He's good," she answered, attempting to keep the blush off her face. "He's taking me to a New Year's party tonight, well, after we have dinner with my mom." She frowned. "I really don't want to leave her at home by herself like that, but she encouraged me to go out and have fun, so long as Craig has me back by one."

"Well, I think that's real nice, hunny," Jan replied. "I'm happy for you."

Ella could only smile, the ring twirling around her fingers with ease.

* * *

Dallas and Ponyboy had barely uttered a word to each other for the time they spent together driving to God-knows-where. The younger boy was growing quite anxious—he didn't really like being alone with the older delinquent for too long, especially after the incident in September. He was more distant, colder, and those emotions made Ponyboy nervous.

He glared out the window. "Dal—"

"What'd I say, huh? Shut yer trap, kid," came the interrupted response. His blue eyes were blazing with anger, lips pulled into a thin line.

And then a familiar trail appeared in their sight, and Ponyboy immediately felt his hands becoming real clammy, chills running up and down his spine. He couldn't figure out why Dallas would drive the two of them all the way out there . . . where it all happened.

His gut tightened, his breathing growing heavier as the memories of Johnny Cade resurfaced, the crying and yelling of adults and little kids, the sound of the roof collapsing—

"Stop the car!" the younger boy called out, the passenger side door opening as the car came to a rough stop, sending both Dallas and Ponyboy forward with a jolt.

The younger teen barely made it outside of the car as he wretched, his breakfast coming back up along the ground as he wheezed. Dally watched him with a grim expression, wondering if it was his driving that made him so green, because surely, it couldn't have been—

"Why'd you take me here, Dallas?" Ponyboy questioned after a minute, voice hoarse as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

Glancing out across the distance, he was able to see Jay Mountain, where the old church once resided. Now, there was nothing there but openness, the bitterness of Winter making it feel colder than the memories it brought.

His attention turned to Dallas for a moment, studying him as those thoughts clouded his mind. Dally was cold and bitter like that, and he was pale with light features and icy blue irises—he was his own Winter.

The blond didn't have an answer for the younger teen beside him, so he started driving again, bringing the two of them up the trail to Jay Mountain, a contemptuous scowl on his face. Once they were close enough, he cut the engine and leaned back in the seat, fishing around his pockets for a cigarette. He lit one leisurely, blowing the smoke out slowly.

"Do you miss him?"

Dally's head snapped in the direction of Ponyboy, eyes turning hard. There it was, that fucking question that he'd asked several weeks ago. He'd never given the kid an answer, never given him what he wanted or needed to hear, or maybe it was _him_ who needed to hear it.

Glory hallelujah, what he _did_ need was a weed to settle his nerves, which were on edge. No, he wasn't nervous, but that feeling, _that feeling,_ that he'd had since he woke up in the hospital back in September was ever so prevalent now. Despair.

"Yeah, kid," he answered finally, clenching his whitened jaw. "Yeah, I miss him."

Ponyboy's mouth practically fell open as his eyes bugged. Had Dallas Winston, _the_ Dallas Winston, just admitted that he missed something? Well, golly, that sure was something, he thought, but he knew not to push the older teen for anything else, because that was all he was going to get.

The two sat there quietly, staring out at the scenery absentmindedly. It was rare that Ponyboy could ever relax being that close to Dallas, but he suddenly was able to; perhaps it was just the cigarette that was settling his nerves, or that was what he told himself.

Dally's voice broke the silence between them. "What'd he mean, Johnny, when he told ya . . . whatever it was that night . . . in the hospital?"

Ponyboy's lips thinned as he registered what Dallas was trying to ask. He could hear Johnny's faint voice echoing in his mind as he recalled that haunting September night. It was easier to think about now, especially after he'd finished his English theme and received the closure he so desperately needed.

Of course, it still bothered him, as it always would, but he was able to accept the past, and therefore move on easier.

"It was from a poem," he found himself saying. "I told it to him that week we were up here." A smile adorned his lips. "He got more out of it than I did, you know. Told me about it in a letter he left for me. He sure liked it."

Dally was chewing his bottom lip as he listened. "What's it mean?"

He couldn't go telling the kid that he'd done his own research, even though it was unintentional, of that poem by . . . what the hell was that guy's name? Shoot, he couldn't remember, but then again, he wasn't looking it up for the author, either.

He never did understand exactly what it was supposed to mean, though, but some part of him wanted to, even though he was internally arguing with himself that it wasn't tuff. Besides, he still didn't quite dig poetry or anything like that.

Ponyboy smiled. "I'll show you the letter if you want. Johnny explained it all in there."

"When?"

"How's five o'clock at the lot work for you?"

* * *

True to his word, Dallas met the kid at five o'clock that evening. He was leaning back against the old car seat, a weed in hand and a folded piece of paper in his lap. He looked peaceful enough that Dallas hardly wanted to intrude on . . . whatever he was doing.

Too late for that, though.

"Hey, kid," he called out, nodding curtly to him.

It had only been a few hours since he'd dropped him off back at the house. He'd gone around and hung with some old "friends" just to blow off time and catch up on what was going on around town. He was itching for something, though, whether it was a good game of pool, a fight, or . . . anything really.

Dallas didn't like being bored, as it made him think, and he didn't like doing much of that, either. Nah, he needed action, something to keep him moving, like a few days ago when he'd so _conveniently_ ran into Sylvia's latest ex-boyfriend just to knock him the fuck out. Sylvia didn't deserve his pity, but he didn't feel it was all that tuff to be trashing your pregnant girl, either, so he taught Chris whatever-his-name-was a lesson—one which involved his fists.

"Hey, Dal," Ponyboy drawled, glancing up at him. His eyes looked so green in the light, like a mixture of different hues blending together. "You came."

"Said I would." Glory, people really needed to stop underestimating his word. "So'd ya bring the letter or not?" He wasn't sure why he'd asked—he had already seen it—but he felt out of place, mostly because this shit just wasn't his style.

The younger teen grabbed the paper from his lap, passing it to him like it was something delicate and fragile that needed to be handled with care. Dally flipped it open, blue eyes scanning the words ever so carefully, as if they would disappear right before him.

Well, Johnny was right on one thing, he thought dully, he did find looking at a sunset crazy. Stupid punk.

But those words . . . he finally understood the meaning of the fucking poem. So that was it, huh? What it meant to "stay gold?" Well, it was too late for him, he figured.

 _There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows._

"Dal?" Ponyboy's quiet voice called, causing him to look up from the letter. "Did you—"

"You mind if I keep this for a while?"

The younger boy stared at him like he'd been slapped in the face. It wasn't that he was upset, no, but quite the contrary. He was stark surprised, and because it was Dally Winston, he was nervous. He was unsure of what to say to the hood, and he didn't want to be knocked upside the head, either.

He nodded, slow-like. "Sure, Dally."

The blond stuffed the paper inside his pocket, before his eyes caught something in the distance, and not just any something, but the damn sun setting. Before he could move, the kid was standing beside him, far enough to keep his distance, though.

Dallas kept his focus planted on the mixing hues of the Winter sky fading to dusk. He'd never paid attention to things like that before, never really saw the point, but glory, it _was_ something. Well, there ya go, Johnny, you little shit, he thought bitterly. You happy now? Punk.

He gritted his teeth as he thought about the year coming to a close that night. Tomorrow would mark a new one, one without Johnny Cade. He felt his fingers clenching into fists, jaw tightening as those very thoughts crossed his mind.

Ponyboy didn't say anything, simply staring at the fiery colors of the bitter-sweet, setting sun, the most prominent one being gold.

* * *

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!"

A chorus of cheers erupted from the room as everyone hugged and kissed one another, shouted, or popped corks off of champagne bottles. The noise was loud and obnoxious, but it was fun and exciting to be a part of, especially for Ella, who had never experienced something quite like it before.

She chuckled as Craig kissed her again. "Happy New Year, El!"

She responded with a kiss of her own. Her head was spinning a little from intoxication, but she was alright, for the most part. She laughed as Craig spun her around, the two of them lost in a sea of people out on the floor. It had been one hell of a night for the couple, but Ella was beginning to feel the effects of everything, unlike Craig, who was ready to keep going.

Still, she had to be home by one, or her mother would have a cow. Besides, Craig wasn't one to break boundaries; he was respectful that way.

They'd had dinner at her house that night, and Ella couldn't have been happier. She really liked having Craig around, and she was especially glad that her mother took such an unexpected liking to him. She figured that it was mostly because she was happy that her daughter had finally found a guy, but she knew that wasn't the whole case. Craig was decent and well-mannered, and he didn't treat her poorly.

"Having fun?" he called over the chatter of everyone else.

Ella nodded, blinking away the drowsiness.

They'd arrived at the party at eight o'clock sharp, being greeted by George, even though it wasn't his party. It was another boy's, someone who George was friends with. Craig didn't know the guy, either, but apparently, he hosted many parties before, and because Craig was buddies with George, he made sure they were able to come.

"Want a drink?" Craig asked after a while.

The brown-haired girl shook her head. "I think I'm done for the night, or morning, rather."

She was about to ask him if he was ready to head out, maybe just be with each other until she actually had to go home, when Cherry Valance approached them.

"Ella," she greeted in surprise, touching the girl's shoulder. She nodded once to Craig, before focusing her attention back on Ella. "I thought that was you. How are you?"

"We're good," she answered politely, barely registering Craig's hand entwining with her own. "You?"

Cherry smiled. "Real well actually."

There was a silence that surrounded the trio for a moment, a suspicious feeling creeping up Craig's spine. Of course he knew Cherry Valance, and he remembered that she was the one who had given the message from Curtis's friends to George Clayton all those weeks ago. He also knew that Cherry was friendly with the Curtis kid, too, and with Ella being Winston's tutor, well . . .

He just hoped the kid hadn't mentioned his name to anyone, or else George's plans would be spoiled, and he didn't want to deal with Winston, either. No thanks. It wasn't that Craig minded so much about George's plans of dealing with Ponyboy Curtis, especially with what Kevin had told him weeks back.

Ella's voice broke his thoughts. "We were just headed out actually."

"Do you have a minute?" the red-head asked, a hopeful look in her green orbs. Her gaze flickered to Craig as she feigned a smile. "If that's alright. I didn't mean to intrude—"

"Of course it's alright," Ella replied, a perplexed look on her face. "We're not in a rush at all."

Craig's jaw was tight, but he nodded along. Instead of taking the hint, though, he remained planted in his spot beside his girlfriend, expression firm as he stared coolly at the other girl. He had absolutely no intentions of leaving her there alone with the red-headed cheerleader.

Cherry, sensing Craig's discomfort and disapproval, avoided her original question. "I was just going to ask if you saw Ponyboy Curtis around still. I wanted to give him a message, but I don't really see him so much during the school day, and I figured, since you work so closely with Dal—"

Ella cut her off. "I see him around sometimes. I could pass along a message for you."

"Cherry!" somebody called, grabbing the girl's attention. "Come here, Roxanne wants you to meet someone!"

The girl sighed, giving Ella and Craig an apologetic look. "You know what, that's alright. I'm sure I'll be able to find Ponyboy in school. Sorry for intruding on you both. Happy New Year." She gave them a small wave as she disappeared in the crowd.

Ella glanced up at Craig and shrugged. "Ever since I've been assigned Dallas Winston's tutor, I've been getting caught up with him and his friend's problems."

"Too bad," Craig muttered. "Besides, it's not like you see Ponyboy around anyway."

His girlfriend pursed her lips, remembering the one afternoon she and the younger boy had saw a movie together. Something in Craig's voice stopped her from divulging that news to him, though, not that she liked it, but it wasn't really important. Aside from that, she knew he didn't like Winston or Curtis, so she decided to keep that information to herself.

 _All things that happen_

 _Will age too old_

 _Though gold_

* * *

 **Wishing everyone a very Happy New Year! :3**


	21. Believe In Yesterday

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Beatles own "Yesterday."**

* * *

 _Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away_

 _Now it looks as though they're here to stay_

 _Oh, I believe in yesterday_

 **January 3, 1966**

Dallas kicked the back of his foot up against Ponyboy's locker. He wasn't exactly feeling too hot, having spent New Years Eve and New Years Day getting plastered. He was barely able to make his way back to Buck's in one piece, having spent the night at some sleazy downtown pub, before getting wasted at Buck's again Sunday afternoon.

Yeah, real intelligent.

Thing was, he needed to drown out the conversation that he had with Ponyboy; it's not that he didn't want to _forget_ about it or anything, but it was too much to consider at once. Besides, he didn't want to keep reliving the night Johnny had died, either.

But here he was, once again, back at Will Rogers High School on a Monday morning. He perked up a little at the sight of Ponyboy heading in his direction, a stack of books in hand. Glory, he sure hoped the kid hadn't spent his entire vacation suffocating himself with school work.

Ponyboy nodded once at the blond. "Hey, Dal."

The older teen motioned to his books. "Why the hell are you carryin' all that shit around?"

"I'm still catching up," he answered. "I used my time over vacation to finally get where I need to be." A sigh. "Darry's been getting on my case about math, and I've been a bit behind on both science and history."

Dallas raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Tell the big man to give ya a break."

The younger boy gave a half smile. "Sure, I'll do that . . . when I want to get my head kicked in."

Ponyboy wished that Darry would quit harping on him as much as he had been. Sure, they were getting along just fine and everything, and he knew that Darry was only doing it because he cared and wanted him to succeed, but Ponyboy knew the score, too. Darry, though, was too hard on himself—as much as he was on his youngest brother.

He continued on, glancing up at Dallas. "So, is Ella still your tutor?"

The blond teen scowled. "What'd I tell ya, kid?"

Glory, he hadn't seen Dopey Ella since that little incident which happened almost two weeks ago. He didn't really care, though, hadn't even given it much thought, either. What did Ella matter to him? She was a pain in the ass, that was about it.

"Well, you ought to talk to her," Ponyboy replied, closing his locker. "I don't know what happened with y'all, but—"

"Kid, listen here," Dally interrupted, pointing a finger at him. "I don't give a shit about Ella or any of that jazz, so shut yer trap before I shut it for you."

Ponyboy was apparently feeling awfully brave that day. His expression changed, green eyes narrowing as he glared at the older boy in front of him, shoulders squaring. Months ago, he would have just done what he was told, but he knew more about Dallas Winston now, not that the hood still didn't scare the crap out of him, because he sure as hell did.

"I saw her over break," he admitted. "Well, right before break, but she didn't seem all that opposed to tutoring you still, regardless of whatever happened."

Now Dallas seemed interested. "When the hell did you two see each other?"

The younger teen shrugged. "The half-day, right after school." He shifted on his feet, leaning his arm against his locker. "We got to talkin', and then we went to the movie house together."

Dallas could have laughed. Ponyboy went to the movies with a girl—he'd _actually_ gone on a date, well, not an _actual_ date, but still. Well, damn, he thought to himself, chewing on his bottom lip. As if the realization just sunk in, he was suddenly reminded of Ella's message from Cherry Valance about the kid, and he pulled himself together.

"And?" he pushed, hoping to get some information.

Ponyboy looked blank. "Nothing. I just think that she's an awfully nice girl, Dal, and you should be more decent to her. She ain't all that bad."

The bell rang, then.

"Yeah, sure," Dally responded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'll see you later, kid."

Brushing past him, the blond had to wonder about Ella Mitchell. He couldn't really picture her actually willing to help him with anything, but that didn't matter to him anyway. He was aware that there was only a week or so left of the second marking period, and he was certain that he would pass, so he didn't need Ella's help for shit.

* * *

Ella found herself in Mr. Davis's office later that morning. She wasn't sure what she was called down for, but she knew that it couldn't be good, either. The only times the girl had found herself in the office that year had to do with Dallas Winston, and a nervous feeling began settling in the pit of her stomach.

She briefly wondered if the blond had kept his promise, or threat, rather. She hadn't seen him since the Christmas party, although she was certain he hadn't seen her. Still, she hoped that Dallas hadn't gone and turned her in for not helping him.

"Miss Mitchell," the secretary called, capturing her attention. "You may go in now."

Ella took careful steps back to Mr. Davis's office, her heart seeming to flutter in her chest as she considered all the possibilities that could occur.

"Miss Mitchell," Mr. Davis greeted, glancing once at her. "Take a seat."

The brown-haired girl did as she was told, swallowing the lump in her throat as she did. Her eyes raised a bit to look at the principal, who was slowly reading through a file, one that she was sure belonged to Dallas Winston.

Golly, was she wrong.

Mr. Davis spoke up. "I've received word that you are currently failing two of your classes." He looked down at the paper on his desk. "You have an F in science and history, Miss Mitchell."

Ella felt her hands becoming clammy. "I'm aware of my grades, Sir. I spoke to Mr. Monroe about my current grade in history, and he explained to me that he would raise it if I turned in an essay after break."

"Hmm," came the response. "And what of your science class?"

"I will be working hard this week to improve my current grade," she answered, hoping that was a good enough statement.

She had never failed a class before, so the unpleasantness of being in the principal's office due to such was making her feel downright lousy. She remembered speaking to Mr. Monroe after class that day a few weeks ago; she had done the essay alright, even went over it several times to check for anything that could possibly be wrong with it. She sure hoped that it was decent enough to raise her grade, or else she would flunk the second marking period.

"And how is tutoring coming along with Mr. Winston?"

Oh, boy, she thought miserably, the part she had been waiting for. Ella wasn't sure if she should lie or not. She wasn't currently aware of Dallas's grades, didn't know what he was struggling with, although she _did_ recall him having trouble with math, but that was it.

She decided to lie. "It's . . . coming along well."

The principal lifted a bushy eyebrow, humming in response. "I see."

Ella didn't like the look he'd given her just then. It made her feel guilty, like Mr. Davis knew that she wasn't telling the truth. This sure wasn't like her, but she couldn't endure reprimanding herself, even if it was Dallas's fault.

Unfortunately, his grades were _her_ responsibility, as she had relayed to Craig a dozen times; it was her job to make sure he passed.

The teen nodded along, looking for a way to sound believable. "He's just been having some trouble with math, but we're working on it."

The older man's eyes maneuvered down the file again. "Yes, I see that."

Ella breathed a sigh of relief, before feeling herself relax a little. Well, at least it _seemed_ like she had an idea of what was going on. Glory, she despised Winston, that godforsaken hood. She found herself remembering Ponyboy's words, then, wishing that she was able to see things how he did, because she honestly wasn't sure that she could forgive Dallas for what he'd done.

Still, if she backed out now, Mr. Davis would most likely question her, and she wasn't looking forward to landing herself in a deeper hole of lies.

In the end, Ella realized that she was left with only two options, and now she had a decision to make.

* * *

George approached Craig at his locker, leaning beside him with a raised brow. There was a smirk on his lips as he stared at the other boy, a questioning look in his eyes. When Craig realized that he was there, he forced a smile of his own.

"How's things going with your girlfriend?" George inquired, a hint of sarcasm laced in his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest, shifting to his side.

Craig's face contorted to confusion. "Ella? What about her?"

George shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Somebody might have said y'all were getting mighty cozy at the New Year's party." He winked, then. "Well?"

"Nothing to tell," he replied, closing his locker. "Besides, isn't that what you're supposed to do with your girl anyway, get cozy with her? They dig that kind of stuff."

"Sure, sure," George said, brushing him off. "Well, you keep on getting cozy with her, because I need some information, which you're going to get for me."

The brown-haired boy stopped abruptly, turning to face his friend with an expression reflecting sheer perplexity. He knew from Kevin that George had been talking crazy, but he didn't want to hear about it, didn't want to think it was all that true.

Of course, he understood that George was still deeply upset over Bob's murder, having never reconciled with it. Still, according to Kevin, he was taking things to extremes, and Craig couldn't understand exactly what he'd meant until then, well other than the fact that he'd mentioned that George wanted to kill the Curtis kid.

"What are you talking about?"

George pulled him aside. "I was informed that your girlfriend was hanging around with Ponyboy Curtis the Friday we got out of school." His brows lifted as he spoke. "You might want to consider keeping a tighter leash on her." And then he smiled. "But here's what I want you to do for me . . ."

* * *

"Lay off, Two-Bit," Ponyboy grumbled, attempting to weave his way out of the older teen's grip. "I've got homework I want to start on."

He merely chuckled in return. "Say uncle!"

Steve rolled his eyes at the commotion in front of himself, exhaling the smoke from the cigarette he'd just lit. He was bummed about not working an extra shift that afternoon, but he had to catch up on some long overdue school work. School for him was never hard, so he didn't have a problem letting himself fall back once in a while here and there.

"Two-Bit!" Ponyboy growled, and grabbed the rusty-haired greaser by the wrists, twisting the lower portion of his body away from the other boy, before giving him a shove backward.

"Damn," Steve said, looking intrigued. His eyes flickered to Two-Bit. "You'd better lay off the alcohol if the kid can take you so easily like that."

He was still laughing. "I'd say he's just mighty lucky, ain't that right, Ponyboy?"

"Yeah," Ponyboy replied, sarcasm in his voice. "But you won't be if don't quit bothering me."

"Lord a'mighty," Steve cut in, shaking his head. "He gets mouthier every day."

Two-Bit was finding the situation quite humorous. "Well look'it who he's been hanging around with nearly _every day._ " Another laugh. "A couple of greasy bums like us will do the trick."

Ponyboy was half tempted to use his history book to whack Two-Bit upside the head, but he knew he wouldn't. Sometimes, he just wanted to do his work in peace and quiet, but unfortunately, with guys like Two-Bit and Steve around, that was just downright impossible. He knew he should have gone straight to the library for lunch instead; at least he could have gotten _some_ work completed.

Steve suddenly perked up, nodding in the direction of Buck's T-Bird across the lot. "Who's that over by Dally's car?"

Ponyboy glanced up, too. "You mean _Buck's_ car." A shrug. "I don't know."

"Looks like"—He squinted—"Naw, it can't be. Never mind."

Two-Bit leaned against the side of his car lethargically. "Well, ya know Dally . . . he's just Mr. Romeo."

* * *

Dallas walked out to the parking lot, eyes searching around for any of the guys, however, his gaze landed on a vaguely familiar sight—one with dark hair and a small oval face. She was bundled up under a long denim jacket and loose bell-bottom pants. He wouldn't have recognized her so easily if she hadn't looked up at him, piercing green eyes meeting his.

With a scowl, he marched over to her, jamming his hands into his pockets and wondering what in the almighty universe she could possibly want with him, and at the fucking high school, no less.

He grabbed her upper arm, pulling her around the side of the T-Bird. "What are you doin' here?"

Sylvia glanced down at her feet once, before looking back at him. "I came to talk to you."

He sighed impatiently. "What for? Look, we ain't together no more, haven't been in months, and don't think that little stunt at Buck's meant anything, either."

Dallas wasn't in the mood to deal with Sylvia. Any time she showed her face around him, there was always some form of trouble—and not the good kind—that came with it. The last time she'd cheated on him was the last; he was done with her. Just because he'd let her dump her fucking problems on him back in November didn't mean he forgave her, because he sure as hell didn't.

"Dal," she said, cutting into his thoughts. "I know it was you who did that to Chris."

The towheaded teen smirked. "Did what?"

Sylvia sighed, chin dropping. "Dallas, please."

"Please _what_ , Syl?" He titled his head to the side, letting her arm go as he fished around his pockets for his pack of Kool. "You know I don't like it when you whine like that."

The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Can we please talk?" Her eyes shifted around them, as if she was scrutinizing the area. _"Elsewhere . . ."_

Dallas gave her a hard stare for a moment, before deciding that he wasn't in the mood for anymore games. Besides, she wasn't being much fun to begin with. It used to be a rise getting one out of her, mostly because she never shied away from coming back at him. Now, she was just dull—certainly not the girl he remembered.

He nodded to the vehicle. "Take a ride?"

* * *

Ella was two seconds away from approaching Dallas Winston, that is, until she saw him chatting with another girl, one who looked strangely familiar, though she couldn't place her. Besides, her head had been turned in the opposite direction from where she stood, so she wasn't able to get a good look regardless.

She'd meant to talk with the towheaded hood about restarting the tutoring sessions again, though this time, without any drama involved. She knew the latest incident involving them was something she would overcome, so long as Winston kept his distance. She was determined to rectify the situation, even though it wasn't her fault.

Unfortunately, Dallas had left with the mysterious girl, so Ella was left back at square one. She figured that she would just have to see him in school the next day or something. It had taken her quite some time—mostly the entire morning—to reach a decision, and she'd decided that, no matter what, she wasn't going to let some over-confident hoodlum with an ego the size of Jupiter cause her to cower.

A voice from behind her caused the teen to jump. She jerked around, one hand resting lightly against her chest, as she came face to face with her boyfriend.

A small smile adorned her lips. "Craig!"

He kissed her. "I thought that was you." A grin. "What are you doing over here? Weren't you going to the library to take care of your science work?"

Ella nodded, letting out a nervous sounding laugh. "I was, but I suppose it just . . . slipped my mind." She shrugged, before adjusting her bag. "I'm so used to going outside during lunch that I forgot about the library."

Truthfully, she hadn't forgotten at all. She just wanted to find Dallas and talk to him about their issues, if you could even classify them as such. Still, Ella had told Craig earlier that she had spoken with Mr. Davis, who was getting on her case about her grades. Mr. Monroe had gladly accepted her essay with a nod of approval, offering her a reassuring smile. She wasn't sure about her science teacher, but she would have to speak with her as well.

Lordy, she thought absently, she should have made a resolution list . . .

Craig stared at her, a blank expression on his face, as he remembered his conversation with George from earlier that day. He wasn't exactly sure how to approach the subject with Ella, but it was something that had been bugging him ever since George had divulged the information to him. He didn't want to believe that his girlfriend had spent an evening with Ponyboy Curtis, especially after he had warned her about him and Winston numerous times.

Of course, he understood the tutoring dilemma, but going behind his back and not informing him that she was, incidentally, with another boy didn't sit well with him. And that's when he felt his anger beginning to rise.

"How come you never told me that you went to the movies with Ponyboy Curtis?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, attempting to keep his voice casual.

Ella's brows rose with skepticism. "What?"

Craig's voice came out colder. "I heard about it today, that you and Curtis saw a movie together the day we got out of school." He glared at her. "You never cared to mention that to me . . ."

She bit her lip, wondering who had told Craig. It wasn't like it was honestly a big secret or anything special like that, but Craig seemed to think something else, and Ella was left to imagine what could have been going through his mind. Golly.

"It wasn't like that, Craig," she admitted with a sigh. "I ran into him after work while I was on my way to pick out your watch. Nothing happened. We just went to a movie together." Her eyes met his, an apologetic look on her face. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I forgot about it."

The brown-haired boy's lips pursed as he considered her words. He wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but he remembered what kind of girl she was, and then he thought about the kid. Well, none of that mattered, but it was the principle of things, and she had went behind his back.

"Yeah, well, I don't think it's too hot that I have to hear from my buddies that my girl decided to clown around with some kid, either," he bit out, brushing past her. "I'll see you tonight."

Ella watched him head out to the parking lot with a surreal expression. She felt awful, and she wasn't sure what to do to fix it. Well, she would just have to speak with him after her shift that evening when he picked her up.

* * *

Dallas lit a cigarette as he waited for Sylvia to speak. She had started a few times here and there, but then she just stopped, and Dallas was growing impatient. He hadn't asked her to take a ride so she could sit there with her trap shut, for fuck's sake.

"What'd ya want?" he asked, not sounding real interested. He eyed her. "Look, I don't got much time, Syl, so whatever it is you wanna say, spit it out already."

"I wanted to tell you goodbye, Dally," she said quietly, fingers playing with the hem of her jacket. Her eyes met his, then, and he realized how glassy they were. "I just . . . wanted to see you one last time, before I go."

Dallas was stumped. "Where the hell are ya goin'?" His brows pulled together as he tried to figure out what in the fuck she was raving about. "Huh?"

Her lips were trembling slightly. "He found out, ya know . . . my father." She wiped a stray tear away, sniffling a little. "At first, he thought it was you, but I told him the truth. He was gonna come with a shotgun after ya, so when I told him about Chris, he was floored." A nervous chuckle fell from her lips as she continued. "Beat the tar outta him when he came lookin' for me. Guess it was a real treat when you took him down, too."

He grinned in spite of himself. "Yeah, well, someone had to teach that fucker a lesson." He looked back in her direction. "The hell's this gotta do with you leavin' or whatever?"

"He's sending me away to live with my great aunt in California," Sylvia answered, rubbing a hand against her forehead. "Said he can't be humiliated with a harlot for a daughter." The blond felt his teeth pressing together as she continued on. "But I wanted to see you before I left. You know, I was thinkin' about us and everything that happened, Dallas, and I wanted to apologize." She shifted in the seat so that she was looking at him. "You know, for however many fuck-ups we've been through, we've always come back to each other. I like to think of our yesterdays."

Dallas glared, knowing no truer words could have been said. "Whatever you say, Sylvia." Chewing the inside of his cheek, he flicked his cigarette butt out the window, before staring ahead. "You want me to take ya home or what?"

At her nod, he started the car and took off down the road. The two remained silent during the ride, but they both knew that no words needed to be spoken. Sylvia had said enough for the both of them, and Dallas wasn't one to get sentimental anyway. Still, there was some part of him that wouldn't forget her, either, and that he was sure of.

As he drove up the familiar path of her driveway, he stopped, putting the car in park. "Why in the fuck did you chop all your hair off?"

And then she fucking laughed. "I was wonderin' when you'd say something about that, but I guess I was just looking for something new." She shrugged in the seat, making to push the door open. "Who knows what's out in California anyway."

As she went to get out, Dallas reached over, pulling her back in by her arm. He stared at her for one split second, before tugging her closer. "C'mere, kid."

Before she had a chance to respond, their lips were pressed together, Dallas's rough against hers, but familiar all the same. She couldn't bring herself to admit to him that she would miss him—even his horrible ways—because he wasn't one for that type of thing. Besides, she didn't want to seem weak, didn't want to let on how she really felt, even after everything that had happened between them.

Sylvia didn't spare a glance back at Dallas as she made her way to the porch. As she pushed the front door open, though, she swallowed her tears and shoved her feelings aside, the sound of the car's tires fading in the distance.

* * *

"So, me an' Kathy ain't together anymore," Two-Bit remarked. "Said she's got more important things to care about other than a relationship, whatever that means."

Ponyboy shook his head. "I didn't even know y'all were back together."

The rusty-haired greaser grinned. "Hell, neither did I, not really. You know, I usually keep a better eye on my lady friends, Ponyboy, but Kathy . . . she's just all over."

"Yeah."

"I figure she's upset 'cause I don't pay much attention to her with all this school junk you've got me doin'," he said, coming to a stop at the Curtis house. "I don't get it, kid."

Deep down, Two-Bit had understood what Kathy had meant, that she wanted to concentrate on her own life like he was beginning to do. Normally, Two-Bit wouldn't ever bother with any sort of school work, but since he had been passing his classes, he'd been putting forth more effort than ever, and with the kid's help and guidance, it was a lot easier to understand.

The younger teen nodded along. "Well, I'm sure she didn't quite mean it like that."

"Sure."

"You coming inside?"

Two-Bit shook his head. "Naw, I'm gonna head downtown, see if I can find something to do." He gave him a short wave. "See ya later."

As he drove away, Ponyboy checked the mail, eagerly shuffling through the envelopes to see if Dale Franklin had responded to him. When he saw that there wasn't a letter from the man, he sighed, hoping that he would at least call with some news.

Lordy, he sure was anxious.

 _Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play_

 _Now I need a place to hide away_

 _Oh, I believe in yesterday_

* * *

 **Thank you for all the wonderful feedback! You guys keep me going! :3**


	22. The Loneliest Number

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Three Dog Night owns "One."**

* * *

 _One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do_

 _Two can be as bad as one_

 _It's the loneliest number since the number one_

 **January 4, 1966**

What Ella didn't expect Tuesday morning was Cherry Valance approaching her at her locker right after second period. She remembered the last time she'd seen her, which was at the Christmas party nearly two weeks ago. The red-head had seemed somewhat anxious, as if she were attempting to conceal something, but Ella hadn't paid the incident too much mind.

She smiled at the girl. "Cherry, how are you?"

Truthfully, Ella couldn't understand why Cherry had wanted to speak to her, or why she had been so seemingly perturbed. Something in the back of her thoughts told her that it had something to do with both Ponyboy Curtis and Craig Bryant, although she was unsure of Cherry's feelings toward her boyfriend.

Cherry merely returned the gesture. "Fine, thank you." She didn't miss a beat. "Would you be able to meet me during lunch this afternoon?"

The brown-haired girl's brows rose in curiosity. "Sure. What for?"

"It's about Ponyboy Curtis."

So she had been right, she noted dully. For whatever reason, Cherry had been trying to speak with her about the younger teen since November, or there whereabouts. She couldn't fathom what the girl's keen interest was with the boy, but she was most definitely curious, especially if it involved her.

"What's this about?" Ella asked, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "With Ponyboy, and that message you wanted me to give Dallas Winston all those weeks ago . . ."

Cherry pursed her lips. "I'll explain everything this afternoon, but it's important that we speak." Her green eyes flickered to the other students swarming around the hall. "Alone."

She picked up the underlying message that Cherry didn't want her to inform Craig about them, so she simply nodded, eyeing the other girl with bewilderment, a worrisome feeling beginning to form in the very pit of her stomach.

"Where at?"

"Is the upper balcony above the gym alright?"

Ella blinked in surprise; she couldn't be serious, could she?

* * *

Soda hummed along to the song playing on the radio, pulling the rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands off as he placed a wrench back in the toolbox beside himself. He couldn't wait for Steve to get there; it was mighty boring without any company. His co-worker, Vinny, had called out once again, so he was maneuvering between working on the car in the garage and checking the pumps.

Glancing up at the clock, he realized that Steve would be on his way there. Even though Soda felt glad for the company of his best buddy, he wondered about his school time. Steve had mentioned that he was going to cut back some hours the next two weeks to catch up on some class work, especially since Mr. Davis had given him a detention for leaving the premises early without permission.

Still, even though Steve hadn't minded one bit, Soda had. He knew Steve was working more for the extra pay, not that he could fault him there, but he'd also been trying to give him some of his money to help him and Darry with their finances. Now, Soda was definitely not one for charity, nor was Darry, as they both had too much pride, but he was beginning to worry a lot more now that they were behind on several bills.

Part of him wanted to accept Steve's offer, but he just . . . couldn't. Steve, of course, understood the situation, but had said that he wasn't looking at it as giving the Curtis family charity, but rather as payment for all the times he'd crashed at their place and eaten their food ...etc.

Hearing the sound of a car pulling up out front, followed by the slam of a door, Soda quickly got to his feet, making his way around to see who was there. He half hoped it was a customer, if not Steve, as he was growing awfully bored, and Soda didn't like being bored.

"Hey, buddy!" came the energetic greeting. Steve clapped him on the shoulder once, causing him to grin like a Chessy cat as he returned the gesture. "What's goin' on?" He looked around. "Where the hell is Vinny?"

Soda shrugged. "Called out."

The older boy rolled his eyes. "That good for nothin' slime ball. Benny oughtta fire his ass, I'm tellin' ya, man. He don't do anything around here, never mind actually _show up_ for work."

Grabbing two bottles of pop from the fridge, the golden-haired boy tossed one to his friend, hoping the sugary drink would settle his bitter mood.

"Say now, what's got your panties in a twist?" he questioned in a playful tone. "Evie not being nice to you again, or ain't ya takin' care of her?"

Steve pointed a finger in his direction. "You just watch it, Curtis."

The younger teen flashed a signature grin. "Yeah, or what?"

"You can spend the rest of the afternoon workin' by your lonesome."

Soda almost laughed. "Like you'd head on back to school instead of working on that beauty that's sitting in the garage just waiting for your touch."

Taking a final swig of his Pepsi, Steve tossed the empty bottle in the trash. "Speaking of which, I gotta order some belts for her."

"Already taken care of."

Steve turned back to face his friend, dark brows raised in stark surprise. "You must be _really_ bored if you've been doin' _my_ work, too."

He was answered with the sound of laughter.

As Soda turned back to the front of the store, his thoughts lingered once more to his family's financial issues, along with the words he'd told Ponyboy. His hours weren't cutting it, and neither were Darry's, not anymore, and it would a while before he was back to roofing again with the cooler weather and all.

The teen felt his stomach drop as he considered the possibilities that could end up becoming his reality if he didn't find another job . . . or something.

* * *

"Ella!" Craig called, jogging over to her. Once he was beside her, the two fell in step, Craig reaching for her hand, as she expected. "Didn't you hear me calling you back there?"

Ella kept her gaze straight ahead. "No."

Craig's face scrunched up in confusion. "Well, are you sitting with me at lunch today?" He pulled her to the side of the hall, letting the other students pass around them. "Listen, El, I know things between us have been a bit . . . rough, but I want to fix it." His eyes met hers. "Please, baby."

The girl looked up at him, sighing slowly. Of course things between them had been rough, she thought bitterly, ever since he had insinuated something between herself and Ponyboy Curtis. She knew that he was just upset, but he hadn't bothered to call her or contact her until this afternoon. Cherry's words had been haunting her thoughts since that morning, and Ella was growing wary with concern.

"Craig—"

"Ella, I'm sorry," he stated, cutting her off. He offered her a sincere look, silently pleading with her to forgive him. "Does that mean anything to you?"

He watched her for any sign of disapproval. George's words from the day before had been plaguing his mind since he'd uttered them. He wanted information about Ponyboy Curtis, and he thought that Ella was the key for answers because she was tutoring Dallas Winston.

Craig knew that George, like him, had a suspicious feeling that the kid went and blabbed to his buddies about their little antics, and that their visit to his house at the New Year's party was their "payback."

Truthfully, Craig was beginning to grow concerned with George's behavior, but if the kid had ratted his friend out, then he deserved whatever George was planning to do. Some part of him disagreed with that, but his lies sounded better at that particular moment.

Still, he had a job to do, and he planned to find out if Ella was getting friendly with the kid, or if she _did_ know anything about Curtis's friends crashing George's party, and if that meant apologizing to her and pretending to like her all over again was the answer to his success, then so be it.

Ella blinked, dropping her hands to her side. "Sure, I forgive you, Craig. Can we just . . . let this go?"

And that was exactly what he wanted to hear. "Absolutely."

She feigned a smile, and then sighed. "I'm actually going to catch up on biology work during lunch today. Mrs. Wilson has been getting on my case about my grade, so maybe tomorrow I can join you at lunch. Is that alright?"

Craig nodded, concealing his disappointment. "Sure, El."

She felt herself relax a little when he pressed his lips to hers, a small smile beginning to adorn her lips, only to be forgotten when the bell rang.

"I'll see you after school, alright?" she said, eyes searching his.

He nodded, feeling slightly annoyed. "Yeah, I'll see you later."

* * *

Ponyboy's eyes roamed over the folded piece of paper that had been placed inside his locker some time during that day. He had read the note several times in class, wondering what he ought to do about it. He surely wasn't about to go to the principal with it, as the man would simply shake his head and blow it off like it wasn't worth his time, so he left that thought aside with a bleak feeling in his mind.

A rapid knock on the door startled him from his thoughts, his focus returning to the worksheet in front of himself on the desk, realizing that he had only completed half of the questions. Well, so much for wanting to raise his science grade—he'd be further behind if he kept this up. Golly.

"Ponyboy," his teacher called, causing him to look up. "You're requested in the office." She glanced up at the clock. "Bring your belongings with you."

His brows pulled together as he wondered what he could possibly be wanted for in the office. He hadn't done anything wrong, that he knew of, and he certainly wasn't aiming to spend time with Mr. Davis, especially when the man intimidated him enough as it was. He was well aware of the principal's feelings toward him, even if he was a fan of Darry back in the day. Still . . .

The teen took his leave, stepping out into the hallway, only to jump a foot backward when a large hand came down upon his shoulder, his face turning a shade of white as his chest tightened for a second.

"Glory, kid, but you sure scare easily," came the voice of Dallas Winston.

Ponyboy jerked around in surprise. "Dal? What are you doing here?"

The older boy smiled, even though it appeared more like a snarl. "Bailed ya out! Figured you could use a few extra minutes out of class anyway."

"Not really," he mumbled in response, thinking of his current grade. "What are you doing roaming the halls, or should I ask?"

"Don't get mouthy, kid," Dally said, tucking a cigarette behind his ear. "Didn't feel like stickin' around for the final half hour of my class, so's I wandered around for a bit, until I decided I could use some company, ya know?"

The younger teen rolled his eyes. Typical Dallas. "Good job."

The towheaded teen's attention was caught by the folded paper that rested on top of the younger boy's books, which were held securely in his hands. Raising an eyebrow with intrigue, he reached a hand out, grabbing for the paper.

"What's this?" he asked, curiosity in his voice. "A love letter or somethin'?"

Ponyboy's eyes widened as he quickly shuffled his books around, tucking them under his arm as he made to take the paper back. When the older boy merely held it above his head like an immature child, Ponyboy gritted his teeth, his frown deepening.

"Give it back, Dal," he ordered, coming to an abrupt stop. He couldn't imagine what Dallas would do if he read the words written between the folds.

Dallas shook his head. "No way, man."

And before the younger teen could make a grab for it again, the blond was already reading it, his smirk fading almost instantly. Well, so much for that, Ponyboy thought with disappointment. Now he was going to question him like it was an interrogation process.

"The hell is this, huh?" came the first inquiry.

Shrugging, Ponyboy glanced up to meet the furious gaze of his older friend. "I don't know."

"Bullshit!" he barked, pointing a finger at the threatening note. "You're gonna tell me you don't know what the fuck this is?"

Dallas's eyes returned to the paper, his lips curling down in aggravation. He didn't care what in the fuck he had to do to get to the bottom of the situation, but he would be damned if the kid was going to stand there and lie to his face to protect whoever was giving him a rough time. And then he remembered the one kid who _had_ been doing so, and he turned his attention back to Ponyboy.

"George Clayton give this to ya?" His eyes were hardening, all signs of teasing gone. "Don't you lie to me, kid."

Inwardly, Ponyboy believed that, but he couldn't be sure. Between George Clayton, Kevin Rogers, and Craig Bryant, he figured that it could be any of them. He knew that George was the ring-leader, as he had been closest to Bob, and he had a feeling that he was out for more than just petty revenge. The looming thought of Craig and Ella still didn't sit quite right with him, and he wondered briefly if that had anything to do with the two of them dating.

His eyes met Dallas's. "I don't know."

Dallas watched the kid as he brushed past him, pure frustration expressed on his face as his gaze shifted back to the paper that was still in his grip.

 _You're next, greaser._

* * *

Ella wasn't quite sure why Cherry needed such privacy to speak with her about Ponyboy Curtis, but she didn't feel quite right about the situation, especially since she barely knew him. It seemed like she was on her way to gossip about him or something, and she inwardly felt dirty doing so. Nevertheless, she found herself waiting for the red-headed cheerleader on the upper balcony above the gymnasium.

Stuffing her hands inside her dress pockets, Ella shivered; it was awfully chilly out, and she wished more than anything that she had brought her jacket. Unfortunately, too much curiosity had clouded her mind and she didn't bother to think about the weather, her thoughts occupied with her upcoming conversation with Cherry Valance.

The sound of the door opening and closing pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked to her side to see the other girl approaching her, her cheeks already tinting pink from the cold. Ella only offered her a curt nod, hoping that she could get inside quickly—she was freezing.

"Thanks for coming," Cherry said, stepping in front of her. "I understand that this is strange, but I think you should know something—"

"About Ponyboy Curtis?" Ella guessed, cutting her off. She gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

Cherry nodded. "I know, but . . ." She paused suddenly, eyes flickering away from the other girl's face as she tried to explain the matter at hand. "There's no easy way to say this, but your boyfriend, Craig, well, he's been harassing Ponyboy since he came back to school in October." At Ella's shocked look, she continued. "He's friends with George Clayton, right?"

"Yes," she answered, dumbstruck. Confusion was laced in her tone as she attempted to digest what the other girl was trying to tell her. "Harassing Ponyboy, though? I—" Suddenly, she froze, remembering the day that Cherry had called after her in the hall as they headed out to the parking lot at the end of the day. "Is that why you told me to give that message to Dallas Winston?"

"It is," she confirmed, sighing once. "Listen, Ella, you're a real nice girl and all, but Craig isn't who you think, and I don't want you to get hurt." She looked away, then. "Ever since Bob died, George began acting out of sorts, drinking more and carrying on. Craig, Kevin Rogers, and George have always been rather tight, and I know from Randy Adderson that the three of them have been bothering Ponyboy because of what went down last September."

The wheels began turning in Ella's head as she started piecing together what Cherry was trying to tell her. A lot still hadn't made sense, and there was a bit of explaining that needed be done, but there was some part of her that knew Cherry wasn't lying to her. She sounded desperate, upset, and her eyes were becoming glassy, as if she was reliving a nightmare by just talking to her about everything.

The brown-haired girl took a breath, closing her eyes for a second. "What do you know about a fight that happened between George Clayton and Ponyboy Curtis about, say, two months ago?"

"Oh," Cherry murmured, lips thinning. She wasn't quite sure why Ella would ask that, but, given the circumstances and the information she was relaying, she figured the girl had her own suspicions that were forming in her mind. "George attacked Ponyboy, shoved him or something in the hall. Mr. Connelly broke it up, apparently, but Ponyboy was suspended because he hit George in retaliation." A sigh. "I suppose nobody saw George initiate the fight."

Ella felt her blood run cold. She remembered Craig telling her that Ponyboy pulled a knife on George, but she hadn't believed it—something with that story didn't make sense. Hearing a different side from Cherry only confirmed her earlier assumptions, that Craig had told her a lie. She reckoned that he was merely covering for George, but why all the warnings of Ponyboy, then?

She was unable to wrap her head around it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to approach Craig with the topic, either. She needed to get to the bottom of the problem, though, and figure out just what exactly was ensuing between George, Craig, Kevin, and Ponyboy.

And there was only one place to start from.

Ella looked at Cherry, a fixed expression on her face. "You were at the trial in September, right?" She remembered reading about the murder of Bob Sheldon, the case, and the trial in the papers all those months ago. "Can you tell me everything that happened?"

* * *

Ponyboy kept eyeing Dallas every few seconds during lunch. The older teen hadn't mentioned anything about his mysterious, though threatening, note to Two-Bit, and he was awfully grateful. It's not that he didn't trust any of his friends, but he didn't need everyone worrying over him, especially Sodapop and Darry—no, there were too many things they were each dealing with.

Dally hadn't even spared a glance in his direction, and Ponyboy figured that he was just waiting to get him alone again to discuss the matter. If he knew one thing for certain, it was that Dally Winston wasn't one to let things go, so he braced himself for whatever would come later on.

"Steve taking extra shifts again?" Two-Bit asked, breaking the silence between the three.

Dally nodded, dropping his cigarette butt on the ground. "Yeah. He's got his car running again, too, so he's been sneaking out before lunch."

Two-Bit hummed, drumming his fingers against the side of his car. "Well, he's been sayin' that he needs the money . . ." His attention turned toward their younger friend. "How's your brothers doin', kid?"

"Alright, I guess," Pony answered, lighting up a cigarette to calm his nerves. He was glad that the older teen struck up a conversation—at least there was something to take his mind off of the note that Dallas was holding. "Darry's been taking to working longer hours, and he's been on the hunt for job number three."

Dallas ran a hand through his white-blond hair. "Jesus Christ. He's gonna be gray before he's thirty if he keeps it up." He shook his head. "Glory hallelujah!"

Two-Bit and Ponyboy shared a look, the former speaking. "Things are really coming down on him, huh?" A sigh. "Sure wish I could help out."

"Ever consider getting a job?" Dally said, sarcasm leaking through his words.

The rusty-haired teen grinned, pointing a finger in the blond's direction. "Now you're starting to sound like Steve." He grinned leisurely. "See, I told ol' Davis that I'd consider getting a job here as a janitor after I graduate. Wouldn't that be something?"

Ponyboy chuckled. "You clown. You realize that doing custodial work is just that, right? _Work._ "

"Don't get mouthy, Ponyboy," he replied in a teasing tone. "Y'all just wait and see. Once I score me a job, I'll be able to help ya out."

Dallas shot him a look. "Score yourself a brain, too, while you're at it."

* * *

Ella felt sick, unable to stay focused through the rest of her classes that day. Cherry's words kept eating at her, causing her heart to drop into her stomach. Her thoughts shifted between Craig and Ponyboy, and she wasn't sure what to do about the situation. She was only one person, and she was certain that Craig would lie to her if she asked him for the truth.

The teen never felt more lonely than she did right then. She didn't know who she was able to trust, even though Cherry Valance had told her the truth about everything, from the death of her late boyfriend and the involvement of Ponyboy, Dallas, and another boy named Johnny Cade. Everything was still coming together in her mind, and she wasn't sure what to do about Craig.

Ella figured that Craig wasn't exactly the culprit behind the harassment of Ponyboy Curtis, like Cherry had said, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he was working with George. Of course, Bob Sheldon had been friends with Craig, too, so the two boys shared a link in their grief. Still, Ella couldn't figure out _why_ the boys were bothering Ponyboy when he wasn't the one who had murdered their friend. No, that had been Johnny Cade, who had unfortunately passed away.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Ella walked slowly to her locker, wondering what she ought to do. Like Cherry said, nobody would truly believe that George was after Ponyboy, especially since the latter was previously suspended for hitting him, even though it was only in self-defense.

"Ella!" Craig called, causing the girl to jump. Jerking around, she eyed her boyfriend with a shocked look, resting a hand on her locker door. "Are you okay, El?"

She blinked, shaking her head. "Yes, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind."

"Anything you want to talk about?" he inquired, stepping closer to her.

Ella stared up at him, trying to see him as the boy she fell for and not the one that was involved in a scheme against Ponyboy Curtis. When she looked into his eyes, though, she kept hearing Cherry's words from earlier, and she felt sick all over again.

"No," she answered quietly. "It's nothing."

Craig's brows pulled together in confusion. Something wasn't right, that much he could tell, but Ella often acted strangely, so it wasn't some seldom occurrence that he wasn't accustomed to. Deciding to drop the conversation, he merely gave her a smile, changing the topic; she would talk to him when she was ready to. He didn't need to push her for answers.

"So, how was your day?" he asked, leaning beside her. "Catch up a lot with science?"

She nodded quickly, remembering that she'd told him earlier that she would be doing science work.

Of course, being in her class, Craig already knew that she was struggling a bit, and then, as if someone had switched on a lamp, an idea popped into his head.

"It was alright," Ella answered breezily. "And, somewhat, I suppose."

"How about I tutor you?"

Her eyes widened at his suggestion, lips parting in bewilderment. " _Tutor_ me?"

A nod. "Of course, El. Why not?"

Craig could feel his own smile deepening at the proposal. Not only would it get her away from Dallas Winston completely, as well as Ponyboy Curtis, but it would lead to George's overall achievement, to make sure that Winston failed. Whatever he was planning with Curtis, though, he didn't exactly know, but he had to make sure that the greaser hadn't blabbed, which he would somehow have to use Ella for.

He wasn't truly up for the task, but if it would get George off his back, then fine. As soon as Curtis was dealt with, and Winston was on a path to failure, then he would relax. After that, he and Ella could part as friends, and there wouldn't be anything to worry about for him.

Ella was still staring at him. "Sure, Craig. I mean, I don't really need help, I'm just catching up—"

"But you'll allow me to assist you?" he continued eagerly. "Look, baby, it's the least I can do." He grinned, leaning in to peck her lips once. "Then you can see how sorry I really am."

And they were back to square one all over again.

Ella felt herself becoming more frazzled as she contemplated her next move.

 _'Cause one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do_

 _One is the loneliest number, whoa-oh, worse than two_

* * *

 **There's a lot going on here, huh? ;)**

 **Thank you so much for all the feedback on this story! Y'all are just too wonderful! :3**


	23. On the Outside

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Christina Grimmie owns "Everybody Lies."**

* * *

 _Everybody lies sometimes_

 _Nothing in the world's as it seems on the outside_

 **January 7, 1966**

Ella felt a little apprehensive Friday morning. For the past two days, she had been contemplating what she was going to say to Craig. She had barely seen him, though, having been using work and other excuses to avoid him. The girl wasn't sure what to think or feel when it came to her boyfriend, but she knew she was going to have to talk to him sooner or later.

"Ella!" her mother called, stepping into the kitchen. "Craig is here." At her daughter's quizzical stare, Frances Mitchell nodded in the direction of the living room. "He just pulled up."

The teen frowned. "That's odd. I didn't know he was picking me up today."

Frances only smiled. "Well, surprises are nice, Ella. Besides, it's awfully chilly out and it's flurrying, well, beginning to anyway."

With a sigh, Ella grabbed her bag and headed on out, her mother watching her go from the doorway, a look of bafflement on her face. Her daughter sure had been acting off lately, staying in the house more than usual, keeping to herself, and asking her to tell Craig that she wasn't available when the boy had called the other night.

Whatever the issue was, Frances just hoped that it worked itself out.

"What are you doing here?" Ella inquired, climbing into Craig's car.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What, can't I pick you up anymore?"

"It's not that," she replied quickly, twiddling her fingers in her lap. "I was just surprised to see you. I wasn't expecting you, is all."

Craig began driving, turning his attention to the road. "Yeah, well, I thought I might surprise you this morning." He glanced at her. "We've hardly seen each other this week."

Ella almost felt guilty, but she reminded herself what she had to do, whether she liked it or not. Still, she _really_ liked Craig, and she didn't want to hurt him, or cause him to grow suspicious of her. In fact, she had second guessed herself several times over the current dilemma she was in. Her eyes shifted toward him, a frown pressing on her lips—she didn't want to do this.

"I'm sorry, but I've—"

"Been busy," he said briskly. "I know."

She exhaled slowly. "Craig, you know I want to see you, but with work and everything—"

Craig was rather impatient, as he interrupted her again. "Are you going to be _busy_ this weekend, El?"

"I'm not sure."

From her peripheral, she could see the deep curvature of his lips as they turned down, his eyes slightly narrowed at her answer. She wondered if she was going about this the right way or not, but whatever she did just seemed to make Craig more upset. She decided that now would be the best time to start with her plans, hoping that she could get the answers she needed.

Before Craig could speak, she beat him to it. "I feel like we've grown distant." She feigned a sigh of defeat. "Well, ever since you found out that I saw a movie with Ponyboy Curtis." At the mention of the younger boy's name, Ella didn't miss the scowl that appeared on her boyfriend's face. She continued on, pretending not to notice. "I just don't want you to be angry about that. Are you?"

"I've apologized a million times for how I came off, El," he replied, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. "I'm not angry with you at all."

He inwardly grimaced at his own words. Some part of him was still a bit upset that he had to find out through George that Ella was hanging around with Ponyboy Curtis and never bothered to bring it up to him. Sure, she _could_ have simply forgotten, like she'd explained, but he didn't find that very likely. No, Ella wasn't one to forget things that easily. But, since George had a newfound plan, Craig had to change his motives as well in order to play his part.

Ella spoke. "Are you sure?"

He hummed in affirmation. "Of course I am. Besides, I couldn't stay mad at you if I wanted to." He tossed her a rare grin. "Look, if you want to be friends with the Curtis kid, that's your business, but just be careful, that's all."

And this was the part that she had been bracing herself for. "Well, I can hardly say we're friends, Craig, especially when we've only spoken a few times. Though he did invite me to see a movie with him that day, I think it was more out of politeness than anything else." She turned a little in the seat so that she could see him better. "Does he really bother you, though? I mean, did he?"

Craig ground his teeth. "Just the fact that he pulled a blade on George a couple of months ago." He didn't bother to say anything about Winston, assuming that Ella was practically finished with him and the tutoring sessions—one down, one to go.

"Are you sure that George didn't . . . shove him first?"

The brown-haired boy felt his heartbeat pick up a little. As he pulled into the school parking lot, he tried to keep his features calm, although he couldn't understand why Ella was bringing this up, or why she would even ask such a thing, unless . . .

"Did Curtis tell you that?"

Ella shook her head. "No, but that's what I heard." She repeated Cherry's words from the other day, a blank expression on her face. "Apparently, George initiated the fight with Ponyboy, and because he hit him in retaliation, he was suspended." She shrugged. "I guess nobody saw George do anything."

Craig merely stared ahead. "Well, that's a lie, Ella. Whoever said that doesn't know what they're talking about, because I can assure you that's _not_ how it happened." Giving her one last look, he climbed out of his car. "I'll see you in biology."

* * *

Dallas gritted his teeth as he watched Ponyboy disappear around the corner, purposely making sure to skip his usual morning stop at his locker. Ever since he'd confiscated that threatening note, the younger boy had been doing a tremendous job avoiding him. Dally was getting quite aggravated—he wasn't finished chatting with him, but he was going to one way or the other, even if that meant making a stop at the Curtis house just to do so.

The blond considered numerous times just bringing the fucking thing to Darry's attention, but he knew that the kid wouldn't give him much of an answer, either. Still, he _did_ have a right to know, being the kid's family an' all, but Dallas was determined to get to the bottom of the matter, and once his mind was set in doing something, he wouldn't budge.

What pissed him off the most, though, was the fact that Ponyboy _knew_ who had written that note, but he was intentionally concealing the information for whatever reason. Dallas had a feeling that the culprit was George Clayton, the fucking scumbag who had been previously bothering the kid all those weeks ago.

Dallas wondered for a minute if this George clown knew he had been involved in crashing his little Christmas party. It didn't matter to him, didn't bother him in the slightest—it's not like George could actually prove anything anyway. Still, the thought lingered in his mind as he walked to homeroom, the wheels beginning to turn ever so much.

George had to know that Ponyboy buddied around with him and the boys . . . And then, as his scowl seemed to deepen more, Dally began piecing the situation together, eyes hardening with each passing second. Of-fucking-course George Clayton had to know who Ponyboy was hanging around with, the whole fucking school had, especially with his name and that Soc kid being the number one topic of discussion back in September and October.

Not only that, but Dallas himself and Johnny Cade had been buzzing around the fucking town, too, so there was no way, unless he didn't pay attention, that George didn't know the scoop on Ponyboy. And that could only mean one thing—a revenge scheme.

Glory, Dallas thought bitterly, why hadn't he seen it before?

"Mr. Winston," his homeroom teacher called, and dropped a slip onto his desk. "This was sent down from the guidance office for you."

Dally sneered, unfolding the paper and reading the contents inside. Well, son-of-a-bitch, he thought to himself, Mrs. Philips Screwdriver wanted to see him right before lunch. Terrific. That was certainly a visit he was not looking forward to. Glory gee, his day was only beginning and he could only wonder what else could go wrong.

* * *

Kevin looked at Craig oddly, noticing that he wasn't changing into his gym clothes, and that his face was awfully pale. "What's wrong with you?"

Craig shrugged, thankful that George wasn't around just yet. "I think she knows." At Kevin's confused expression, Craig continued on, a worried look in his eyes. "Ella, I mean. I think she knows what really happened with the Curtis kid and George."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"I don't know, but she made a comment to me this morning," he replied. "I'm not sure where she is getting her information from, but she's on to something and I don't like it."

"Alright, alright," Kevin said, resting a hand on his buddy's shoulder. "Relax, man. Look, Ella Mitchell can't prove anything and neither can the kid, so don't worry about it." He stepped in front of him, gaze meeting his. "What's eating at you?"

Truthfully, Craig wasn't sure why he was acting like this, or why he was feeling nervous. Kevin was right, though. Ella didn't know everything, or so he hoped, and there wouldn't be anything that she or the kid could do. George had made sure of that.

But still, Craig knew that Ella was thinking, but what was actually going on in her mind he wasn't sure of, and that put him on edge.

He looked back at Kevin. "Maybe it's not what she thinks, but what she _could_ know. I don't know, it's the way she spoke to me this morning, as if she wasn't questioning me, but testing me."

Now Kevin was staring at his friend, a peculiar look on his face. "Craig, that's impossible. Seriously, I wouldn't worry about it if I was you." He ran a hand through his hair. "I doubt Ella really knows any sort of information. Where would she even get it from?"

"Said she heard it from other students—"

"Heard what?" George inquired, stepping around the lockers and into the aisle, a suspicious look in his orbs as he eyed his two friends. "What did _who_ hear?"

* * *

Ella walked down the hallway later that day, her chest feeling awfully tight. She wasn't sure if her boyfriend was actually upset with her from that morning, but he hadn't said anything to her in biology, and when she went to his locker before third period, he was nowhere to be found. A suspicious feeling was settling in her gut, one which was telling her that Craig was, in fact, lying.

She didn't like to think about it, but with Cherry worried about Ponyboy Curtis, and the issue ensuing with George Clayton, Ella was becoming more and more uneasy.

Something definitely wasn't right, and she didn't know where to turn. There was only one person that she could talk to, other than Cherry, but the towheaded delinquent wasn't someone she really wanted to approach with the topic. The last time the two had been alone together, Dallas had forced himself on her, kissed her against her will, and that was enough to frighten her.

Remembering Ponyboy's words, though, did settle her nerves, but they alone weren't enough to ease her troubled thoughts on how violent and impulsive Dallas Winston could be, and she didn't want to be another victim of those characteristics—no thank you.

Ella nodded once to the secretary in the guidance office, handing her the slip she was given earlier in homeroom. When the woman looked it over, she told Ella to head on back, which the girl did with a little bit of reluctance. She was certain that Mrs. Philips was going to either question her about her grades, or she would want to talk to her about Dallas Winston, and she wasn't up for either discussion.

As she entered the room, she was met with the sight of blond hair, and her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment as she came to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Before she could utter a sound, Dallas had turned around, eyeing her with surprise. It only took a second before that expression was replaced with disgust, and he jerked back in the other direction, kicking his feet up on the desk.

Ella forced her feet to move forward and bring her to the chair beside the hood's, making sure to keep her face free of any emotion. She wasn't in the mood to deal with Dallas's childish antics, and she didn't want to see his face, either. Unfortunately, she assumed that Mrs. Philips had wanted to see them about the tutoring process again, and she suddenly felt worse.

The two teens sat in complete silence until Mrs. Philips entered, moving to seat herself at her desk, not even bothering to address either of them, except to scold Dallas for the placement of his feet. She seemed a bit rushed, and Ella and Dallas could only hope that she was—neither of them wanted to be there more than the other.

"Alright," Mrs. Philips sighed, putting her glasses on and skimming down a file. She glanced at Dallas with a firm look. "Your current grades have remained consistent. It seems that you will be able to pass the second marking period after all." Her eyes moved back to the file. "I see your math grade has made an improvement."

"Well, what can I say?" Dallas said, an edge in his voice. "All this studying crap I'm doin' must be paying off."

Ella shot him a look, but he ignored her. Her attention returned to Mrs. Philips as she began speaking again, shaking her head at the blond's choice of words. She wondered briefly, though, if Dallas was referring to Ponyboy, who had told her that he'd been helping him a while back. Even so, she hadn't missed the sarcasm that was directed at her.

"Miss Mitchell, how are your classes?"

Ella felt her hands becoming clammy, but she forced herself to remain strong. "Fine."

"I've spoken with some of your teachers and was informed that you were failing history and science," she replied, looking at the girl. "Is the tutoring too much for you, because—"

"No, no," Ella responded quickly, and pursed her lips. "I was . . . I mean, I fell a bit behind in history due to some complications at home." She took a breath. "My mother was sick, and I was the one who was taking care of her, but Mr. Monroe told me that if I wrote an essay for him, he would raise my grade, considering the circumstances."

Mrs. Philips didn't seem impressed. "And biology?"

The teen felt herself sinking in the chair, wishing she was anywhere but there. "I've been working with my teacher to make up any work that I can."

Beside her, Dallas was listening to the conversation with utter intrigue. Ella always seemed like she was on top of things, and proud of herself, but in that particular moment, she was anything but. He could hear her voice shaking, and it reminded him of the day he'd questioned her out in the parking lot several weeks back. Lordy, she was hopeless at the best of times, and Dallas was getting a complete kick out of it.

Still, he didn't like Mrs. Philips Screwdriver, and he didn't want to sit around and discuss grades when there were more important topics on his mind at the moment. He didn't need this shit, and he certainly didn't need to hear about Dopey's pathetic life issues, either.

Unfortunately, the woman felt the need to continue interrogating them. "And how is the tutoring going between you two?"

"Fine," Dallas answered hardly, hoping she would take the hint.

She eyed him closely, before looking back at Ella. "Well, if all is under control, I suppose that takes care of everything. Just be sure that you improve that science grade, especially with the third marking period just around the corner."

Ella nodded. "Of course."

"I will be seeing the two of you again soon," Mrs. Philips stated in a casual tone, and then dismissed them from her office.

Dallas was the first one out, glad that the visit was over. Glory, didn't these people have anything else better to do? He knew that his grades were fine—Ponyboy hadn't been sitting around not bothering to help him with squat. Some part of him actually felt annoyed that the kid's credit had gone to Ella, who hadn't done shit except become an irritating thorn in his side since October.

Speaking of the dope, Dallas heard her calling after him. He came to a stop, shoving his hands inside his pockets as he waited for her to catch up. He wondered what in the hell she could possibly want, and hoped that it was quick—he didn't have time for her bullshit. He debated ignoring her for a second, but decided against it. Besides, he wouldn't get _too_ far without her following right behind him.

The brown-haired girl stopped about a foot from the hood, clutching her bag against herself, fingering the strap as her eyes lowered to the floor. She wasn't truly prepared for what she was going to say to him, and she wasn't sure how to go about it, either. She couldn't tell him that Craig was involved with George Clayton, because she was scared for him, and she was scared for Ponyboy, too.

"Is Ponyboy helping you?" she asked quietly, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Dallas was impatient. "What's it to ya?"

Ella shrugged. "It's . . . not. I was actually just wondering how he is."

The blond stared at her, expression hard. He wasn't in the fucking mood for this, and he didn't want to stand around and have a casual chit-chat with Ella Mitchell, either.

"Why don't you ask him yourself, huh?" He shook his head. "Look, I got places to be, girl, so if this is all you wanted to talk about, forget it."

Ella watched him jerk around, angrily stalking away. She wasn't sure what prompted her to approach him in the first place, but she knew she had to. Dallas was a hard guy to talk to, and he was even harder to get through to. His horrible traits made the girl incredibly wary, and just attempting to have a casual conversation with the hood made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Glory, how in the world had she spent all that time tutoring him?

Perhaps it was just his proven antics that made her feel more frightened, but either way, she wasn't about to back down. She hadn't let him get over on her before, and she certainly wasn't going to now, well, not that _he_ needed to know. Ella was going to show Winston that he couldn't intimidate her, no matter how nasty and viscous he got with her.

With a determined expression, Ella followed behind him. "Dallas, wait!" The blond only kept up his pace, not bothering to spare her another glance. "Dallas!" she called out again, and once she was close enough to him did she grab his arm, causing him to jerk around forcibly, ripping his arm from her clutch.

"What the fuck do you want?" he demanded, eyes narrowing into slits.

Ella recoiled, her breathing getting harder. "I just— You need to listen to me. Please."

"I don't need to do shit," he bit back, and pointed a finger at her. "What _you_ need to do is stay the hell away from me."

The girl wasn't sure what came over her, but something inside of her flared up, blood beginning to boil as her adrenaline spiked. Her nostrils widened as her face scrunched in complete anger, blue eyes glaring straight into Dallas's. She slapped his hand away from her face, taking one step forward, and then another.

"No," she bit out. "You need to hear something important. It's about Ponyboy."

Dallas wanted to slap her across the face, like she'd done to him two weeks or so ago, but he refrained, especially when she said the kid's name. Something about the way she'd said it made him second guess just walking away from her. He wasn't real interested, but now he was curious. What in the fuck could she want to tell him about Pony?

"Well?" he growled at her silence. "What, huh? _What?_ "

Ella stayed firm. "I think he might be in trouble." At the hood's look of bafflement, she continued on bravely. "Or that something is going to happen."

The blond teen blinked once, silence engulfing him as he attempted to decipher her words. What did she mean that something was going to happen, that Ponyboy was in trouble? Well, there was only one thing he could think of, and that was the fucking note.

He inhaled sharply, giving her a cool look. He was quiet as he dug around his pockets for his pack of cigarettes, not once removing his eyes from hers. After fishing one out, he tucked it safely behind his ear, trying to keep calm, well, as calm as Dallas Winston could possibly get.

"Alright, alright," he muttered after a minute, voice still bitter. "Spit it out, whatever you was raving about."

Ella shook her head. "Not here."

The blond raised an inquisitive brow. He looked her over carefully, before a smirk brushed his lips. "You don't look the type to ditch."

"Well, clearly you don't know me," she responded, crossing her arms. "I'm only talking to you because I'm worried about Ponyboy, but I don't feel . . . comfortable discussing anything here."

Dallas stared at her for a good second or so. He wasn't sure why she would ever be concerned about Ponyboy in the first place, or why she would be bringing it to his attention; it wasn't like the two of them were friends, and he sure as hell didn't want to be. Ponyboy, on the other hand, seemed to get on alright with her, but they weren't real friends, either.

Considering the dilemma, Dally raised his chin, looking down his nose at the girl in front of him. He didn't really get her, and he didn't like her, either. Jesus, she acted like whatever she had to say had to be so private, and the thought of being alone with her sickened him.

Against his better judgment, he decided to go along. "Whatever. Let's blow this joint."

* * *

Ella stared out the front window, her nerves on edge once again. She was thankful that they were out in a public area, but she still didn't trust Dallas, especially with what happened the last time they were alone together. Still, she was grateful to be outside of the local Dairy Queen—at least they wouldn't arouse suspicion that way.

She sighed. "Does the name George Clayton ring a bell?"

Dallas shrugged. "Don't know him."

"Oh, cut the crap," Ella said vehemently. "You know him, or at least heard of him." At his look of utter confusion, she rolled her eyes. "I saw you that night at his house, Dallas. You were there with a group of guys, you crashed the party, set fireworks off—"

"The hell are you talkin' about?" the hood questioned, teeth grinding together. "Don't you go around talking shit, you hear me? You don't know nothin'!"

Ella was angry. "You're the one talking crap. I saw you there, Dallas. I saw you with my own two eyes! I was there with my boyfriend, and _I saw you!_ "

Dallas was two seconds away from pushing the girl out of the car. "Yeah? So what?" He turned to face her, then, anger deepening. "What, you're gonna go tell your fucking boyfriend that I was at his buddy's house? Go right ahead, girl, see where that will get ya."

"No!" she cried, arms flailing in the seat. "No, I don't care about that! I don't care about that at all. I want to talk to you about Ponyboy!" She let out a frustrated sigh. "I think George is, or might be, after your friend, and—"

Dallas cut her off. "Wait! Hold up! Where the hell is this coming from?"

"Well, if you'd let me speak—"

" _So fucking speak!"_

Ella had never despised anyone as much as she did Dallas Winston, and she was regretting ever trying to talk to him. Still, though, her thoughts remained on Ponyboy and what Cherry had told her, so, after taking a deep breath, she divulged everything that Cherry had told her about George Clayton. She didn't want to bring Craig into the mess, figuring that she could deal with him herself, so she left his name out of it.

On the other hand, Dallas wanted nothing more than to beat the shit out of George Clayton, but he knew that, unless Ponyboy decided to open his fucking mouth, he couldn't do shit. Well, he _could_ , but the reminder of a five year prison sentence was also weighing on the back of his mind, too.

Ella had only told him that George was out to avenge Bob Sheldon, the guy that Johnny Cade had murdered back in September. He wasn't sure where Ella had been getting her information, but he could only assume that it was coming from one of two people—her boyfriend, or somebody who knew both George and Ponyboy, but who?

It didn't matter, though, he figured. So long as Ella could keep him in the loop he didn't give a shit where the information was coming from. He just hoped that it wasn't some crock of shit, though the letter that Ponyboy had received told a different story. Acting on impulse, he decided to share that little tidbit with Ella, but her guess was as good as his, although they were both assuming that George Clayton was definitely the one behind it.

"So, what happens now?" Ella asked after a while. "I mean, what's going to happen?"

Dallas shrugged. "I'll figure something out."

She glared at him. _"You?"_

"Yeah. _Me._ " He lit up another cigarette. "You just find out what's going on and keep me posted. I'm gonna deal with this George clown and settle this shit."

The girl sighed. "Are we back to tutoring, then?"

Staring straight ahead, he blew out some smoke. "You could say that, _sweets_."

 _Just when you think you got something real_

 _Still you know_

 _Everybody lies sometimes_

* * *

 **Thank you all for the wonderful feedback on this story! I appreciate it and you guys so much! :3**


	24. All the Way Down

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. AC/DC owns "Highway to Hell."**

* * *

 _Asking nothing, leave me be_

 _Taking everything in my stride_

 **January 10, 1966**

"Winston!" Buck called from downstairs. He was clearly hacked off about something from the tone of his voice. His fingers drummed repeatedly against the railing as he waited for his rodeo partner to get his ass down there. "Winston, you son-of-a-bitch! Git down here!"

Dallas leisurely took his time slipping his boots on. Of course he had heard the rugged cowboy yelling his name; glory, you could hear that racket clear across the country, he was sure. Moving to his feet and stretching, the blond pulled his jacket on and headed out. He was able to see Buck Merril before he'd even fully descended down the stairs.

The older man glared at him. "Yer friend, Mathews, is passed out in his car in the lot."

"Yeah?" he said, lighting up a cigarette. "And what do you want me to do 'bout that, huh?" He shook his head. "You got a problem, you deal with it. I ain't your fuckin' man-servant, and I sure as hell ain't Mathew's baby-sitter."

Buck promptly stepped in front of the hood, blocking his path. Dallas raised an eyebrow, but he wasn't surprised, not at all. He was growing aggravated, and he didn't want shit from Will Roger's finest if he was late due to a crooked nuisance in the form of a cowboy. However, he did wonder for a brief second why in the hell Two-Bit was passed out in his car, especially with how cold it was out there.

"You do as I tell ya, Winston," Buck bit out, lips curling back and revealing the hole in his mouth where two of his teeth were missing. "Remember whose house yer in, kid, and who the hell is giving yer no good, gutter-ass some income." He took a brave step forward, the liquor on his breath wafting straight into the teen's nostrils. "Now git on out there and take care of that kid."

Shoving the man aside, Dallas walked out the door, forcing himself not to deck him. He was tired of Buck's shit. Sure, he had offered him a room for practically nothing, and sure, he worked a few hours at the bar three nights a week, but damn, he was really getting on his nerves the last few weeks. What in the hell did he have to do to get some peace?

"Two-Bit!" he hollered, knocking on the driver's side door. "Hey, Two-Bit! Wake the fuck up!"

One more hard knock sent the older boy jolting up, the upper half of his body coming forward as he nearly fell back down, honking the horn. Cracking his eyes open, he attempted to look around himself, but everything seemed blurred and disoriented—he had one hell of a hangover.

"D-Dally?" he croaked, and then blinked several times. "Hey'ya, Dallas! I'm just real glad to see ya."

The blond watched as his friend pushed the door open, slipping in the snow and practically falling straight on his ass. He only grinned, though, completely ignoring the fact that Dallas was about two seconds away from strangling him.

The cold air hit Two-Bit immediately, and his eyes widened as the deliriousness of the intoxication began wearing off. "Oh, glory, it's mighty cold out here."

"Yeah, no shit," Dally growled. "Buck sent me out here to get you, so either you get on inside and call someone to come and get you, or freeze your ass off out here."

The older teen merely nodded. "Sure, Dal." He groaned next. "Shoot, do I sure feel sick."

"That's what comes with a hangover, stupid," he replied, and gave him a rough shove forward. "Now git on in there."

With a sigh, Two-Bit trudged inside the roadhouse, leaving Dallas five minutes late, not that he truly cared—he just didn't want anyone breathing down his neck for tardiness, either. Well, it was obviously too fucking late for that now.

* * *

Dallas arrived at the school ten minutes late. Unfortunately for him, he'd gotten caught in the morning traffic and ended up having to park out in bumfuck nowhere, thanks to Two-Bit fucking Mathews and Buck fucking Merril.

With an icy countenance, Dallas marched into the school, stopping in the office to sign himself in late. He was given a pass to art, a scowl on his face the entire time he walked to the classroom, and by the time he'd gotten there, he was livid.

He'd missed speaking to Ponyboy, which was what he had intended to do. He had gone to the Curtis house over the weekend, but nobody was home, so he'd went to the DX to talk to Soda, who hadn't been able to help him with the location of the kid.

Dally really hadn't felt like driving all around town just to hunt the kid down, either, so he figured that he would get him in school Monday morning. Well, things hadn't gone according to plan, so now he would have to find the kid before lunch and talk to him before they ran into Steve. If that didn't work, he was going straight to Darrel Curtis; he'd had enough of this shit. If the kid was going to cover for George Clayton, he could deal with his brothers.

"Dallas," Mrs. Girdlé greeted. "So nice of you to join us." She took the slip he tossed at her, watching him stalk off to his seat in the back of the room. She sighed. "You'll need to stay after class, Dallas."

The blond looked up, a hard glare in his eyes. "Yeah? What for?"

"To discuss your detention," she answered. "This is the third time you've shown up late to my class."

Grounding his teeth, he bit back the snide remark that was on the edge of his tongue. Boy, he sure wanted to sock someone, and good. Anyone else who decided to give him static that day was going to end up with his fist in their mouth.

He was done with the day before it even began.

* * *

Ella waited by Craig's locker later that morning. She was growing a bit upset with how he'd been putting her off and ignoring her for the last few days. In a way, she was certain that she deserved it, having done the same thing to him only days prior. Still, the girl had told him that she would be busy over the weekend when he had called her Friday night.

Some part of her felt bad about the entire situation concerning Craig, and she wasn't sure what she could do to fix it or rekindle their relationship. What disturbed her the most, though, was the fact that Craig had been lying to her, according to Cherry Valance, and he wasn't the person he acted like. Ella wasn't sure that part was fully true—she knew that Craig was honestly a good guy, but he was making some horrible choices due to George Clayton's grief over losing his friend.

With a sigh, the brown-haired teen strolled down the hall to head to her next class. She figured that Craig would come around eventually and she could talk with him then. Really, all she wanted was the truth from him, not an apology or anything. She didn't want to be mad, either, she just wanted him to talk to her, tell her what was going on with George.

As those thoughts were clouding her mind, Ella spotted Ponyboy Curtis rapidly switching some books around in his locker, an apprehensive expression on his face.

"Ponyboy," she greeted, approaching the younger teen.

He looked at her, clearly startled. "Ella, hi." Grabbing his geometry book, he slammed his locker closed quickly. "How are you?"

The two began walking together as Ella responded. "I'm alright, I suppose. How are you?"

He shrugged. "Fine. Did you ever . . . talk to Dally about restarting the tutoring?"

Ella almost chuckled. "I was actually going to ask you if he spoke to you about that." At his surprised look, she shook her head. "I spoke to him last week about it, yes."

"How did that go?"

"Well, not exactly—"

The pair came to an abrupt stop, nearly colliding into somebody as they rounded a corner. Ponyboy's eyes widened for a second, before narrowing. Ella, on the other hand, appeared more shocked than the younger teen beside her. Speak of the devil . . .

Dallas practically shoved the kid into the set of lockers beside them. "I've been lookin' for yer ass all day, kid."

The younger boy pushed him off. "Can't see why. I've been—"

"Cut the shit, Ponyboy," he fired back, blue eyes blazing. "I told you we were gonna talk and I meant it." He eyed him closely. "You can forget about taking off again."

"Dal, the bell is gonna—"

The older teen cut him off. "I don't give a shit. I want to know why you're covering for George Clayton, and if you don't tell me, I'm taking that fucking note to your brothers."

Ponyboy was getting angrier by the second, his mood souring. "Well, that's fine with me, Dal, but I've already told you that I don't know who wrote it."

And that's when Dallas remembered Ella's presence. He shot her a hard look, before pointing a finger at the kid. "You, tell him."

Ella blinked in bewilderment. "Wait, I—"

The trio was interrupted before the girl could finish what she was going to say. Mr. Connelly rounded the corner, noticing the tension that was swarming between the teens almost immediately. He eyed them suspiciously for a second, before intervening.

"You three, get to class now," he ordered, gaze shifting between Ponyboy and Dallas. "Go, before I give each of you a detention."

Ponyboy was the first to break away, not bothering to spare a glance back at either Dallas or Ella. He wasn't sure what Dallas meant when he'd told Ella to tell him whatever it was he wanted her to say, but a dark thought began looming in his mind, one that made him more nervous than before. What if Ella knew that Craig was involved with George Clayton's antics?

Well, Ponyboy was never one to back down from any sort of fight, but he really didn't want to rile up anymore trouble with the Socs, even if Cherry Valance and Randy Adderson would attempt to protect him. George had too many friends, and there was no way that anyone was going to believe him about what had been going on. In his heart, he knew that George had written that note, but there was no way that he could prove it, and now Dallas was pissed at him and threatening to go to his brothers.

Ponyboy wasn't sure what to do, but he knew he had to do something, one way or another.

Ella had went in the opposite direction from Ponyboy, Dallas trailing behind her. She had wanted to talk to Ponyboy about Craig, but Dallas had gotten in the way of that conversation. It wasn't exactly his fault, she knew, but she was a bit upset.

She turned back to face the blond, a curious look on her face. "I think he's afraid."

"Ponyboy?" he asked, jamming his hands in his pant pockets. "Can't see why."

Ella rolled her eyes. "Because of George. He's a pretty popular guy, and I don't think he feels that anyone would believe him, well, his word against George's."

Dallas was impatient. "Yeah, well, he's gonna come out with it sometime soon, and George whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is will be dealt with." As he turned down another hallway, Ella called his name out, an unreadable expression veiling her face.

"Are we still on for this afternoon?"

* * *

Sodapop was surprised to see Steve pulling into the DX, his brows knitting together as he wondered why his friend was there yet again. Internally, he was more than grateful for the company; being the only employee on, save for Benny, could get awfully boring.

The only thing that kept the teen going was the customers that buzzed in and out all morning and afternoon. Still, it was mostly older people, since his friends were in school.

"Steve," he greeted the dark-haired boy. "You takin' another shift?"

"Yeah," he answered as the two slapped hands. "Told Dal I was cutting out early so he and Ponyboy didn't wait for me during lunch. I was gonna see if I could do more work on that Belair in the back. Did the parts come in?"

Soda nodded. "Sure did. Came in this morning."

The two walked inside, Steve clocking in. He was glad for the extra hours, but he was a bit worried about falling behind in his classes again, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. It was his senior year after all, and he would be damned if he got too far behind where catching up would be impossible.

"So, how'd Davis take it, you skipping out on school?" Soda asked, leaning against the counter.

The older teen shrugged. "Not too happy, but he'll get over it, I reckon." He smirked. "'Sides, I'm gonna pass either way, so there ain't nothin' he can do to hold me back, or even try."

"Sure."

And that's when Benny, their boss, entered the store from the back, his eyes landing on Steve as his lips pulled into a thin line. Steve noticed the older man staring at him, and he immediately lost the grin that was forming on his face. Shoot, he didn't want no trouble with Benny, so when the man had asked him to come back into the office, the teen felt himself stiffen.

Once inside, Benny spoke. "You supposed to be in school now, Randle?"

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yes, Sir, but—"

"You know you're one of my best, Randle, but you're not supposed to be here during school hours," he stated, giving the teen a stern look. "Look, I can let it slide for today, but that is it, you hear me? You're supposed to be in school, and you're a part-time employee, so this stops today."

The teen merely nodded. "Sure, Benny."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You know, I don't mind you comin' in for an extra shift every now and again, but I can't have you waltzing in here anytime you'd like making shifts for yourself, kid, alright?" He watched as his employee's chin dropped a bit. "However, when you're all out of school, I'll put you on full-time with your buddy out there, savvy?"

Steve immediately perked up. "Yeah? Gee, thanks a lot, Ben."

That had to be the best news he had heard in a while, and he couldn't wait to share it with Soda and the guys. Well, there were only a few months left until graduation, and he couldn't wait for them to be over so that he could finally work full-time and have more income than before. Now he could save up for himself and help the Curtis family out, too.

* * *

Ella was astonished that Craig met up with her at her locker right before lunch that afternoon. He had given her an apologetic look, which was followed by a crooked smile. The girl was hardly fooled by any of it, though. Sure, she believed that he was sorry for blowing her off, but she didn't believe that he honestly cared, and that upset her.

"Craig," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "I waited for you today."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm sorry, El, sorry about everything." A sigh. "I know I haven't been acting right, and I've been indecent toward you."

Ella stared at him with bafflement. "Craig, why didn't you speak to me this morning in class?" Her eyes seemed to soften a little. "Never mind that. Look, I'm sorry, too, alright?"

The brown-haired boy rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Um, would you like to talk now, then?" He wasn't sure why he'd asked that, even if there were a lot of things that he wanted to say. Perhaps he just wasn't ready.

Ella quickly answered. "I would like that."

Craig felt himself becoming unsettled. He had spoken with George over the weekend about Ella, and he seemed slightly infuriated about the entire situation. Still, he had only brushed over the topic, before assuring Craig that Ella couldn't prove anything even if she wanted to. He thought about Kevin for a moment, wondering if he, too, was getting sick of George's delusions.

He took Ella's hand as the pair began walking down the hall, but before they could make it to the doors, she had shocked him with the next words that came out of her mouth.

"I'll be tutoring Dallas Winston after school today," she said.

Craig came to an abrupt stop, jerking around to face her. "What?"

She only gave him a firm stare. "Mrs. Philips spoke to the two of us in guidance last Friday, so we're back to the tutoring, starting this afternoon." She used her free hand to push her hair off of her shoulder as she continued. "With my current grade in biology, I have to do something in order to not get myself in more trouble, Craig, and I think Mrs. Philips knows that I haven't really been helping Dallas."

The last part was a bit of an exaggeration, she knew, but it was the only way to keep Craig content enough that he wouldn't start overwhelming her with his warnings of the hood and Ponyboy Curtis. She would carefully move to the next part of her plan soon, hoping that Craig would open up to her.

He was silent for a good minute, contemplating her words. "Well, if you would have let me help you with—"

She cut him off. "I'm almost caught up, Craig." She tossed him a genuine smile. "It's not that I don't understand the material, but I was just catching up, and between work and everything last weekend, I used my free time to finish up what I needed to. I'm just waiting for Mrs. Wilson to grade me."

Craig was becoming apprehensive. "So, you'll be tutoring Winston again?"

His girlfriend nodded. "As of this afternoon, yes."

"Alright," he murmured, before pulling her outside for lunch. Inside, he was about to explode, because, even though he wanted to get away from George, he knew his friend would be upset.

Maybe he wouldn't say anything.

The thought alone of Ella being considerably suspicious over the incident with George and the Curtis kid wasn't exactly helping matters, either, but Craig decided to let it go for the moment. He had to make sure that he and Ella were alright, and he hoped that their conversation during lunch would end with better circumstances than their previous ones had.

* * *

Dallas pulled out a cigarette, lighting up as he waited for Ella. He wasn't exactly too thrilled about the tutoring sessions, but he didn't really have a choice at the moment. He figured that he would just stick it out until he got the information he needed.

His thoughts drifted to Ponyboy as he searched around the parking lot for Dopey. He'd barely had a chance to speak with the kid during lunch because he'd said that he was doing some extra credit or some shit for his math teacher to raise his grade even more before the marking period ended that week, and he'd had the nerve to tell him that he would be staying after school as well.

The hood was growing mighty pissed with the kid's antics of avoiding him, and he was considering on knocking him upside the head to straighten him out some. Still, he didn't want to deal with Darry's fist rearranging his face, so he shoved that thought aside. Well, he would be facing Muscles soon if his kid brother didn't start talking, and soon.

"Dallas," greeted Ella as she came to a stop beside him.

He nodded once to her, stubbing his cigarette butt beneath his heel before getting into the car. Ella was next to him in the passenger seat in less than a second. She seemed somewhat perturbed by being there with him, and he slightly smirked as he recalled the reason why. He'd kissed her just to get under her skin and irritate her, and it had worked. Real good, too. Of course, he hadn't liked it all, and the reminder almost made him sick, but he ignored it.

"So, I was thinking that I could talk to Ponyboy," Ella blurted out, sneaking a glance at him. "I know you want to, and you have more of a right than I do, but I think I can get the truth out of him, you know, with George Clayton."

Dallas scowled. "Yeah, sure. What makes you think that, huh? You ain't his friend, sweets, or did you forget that?"

The girl sighed, a bit hurt by the bite in his tone. "No, you're right, Dallas. I'm not really his friend, and that's why I think I would be able to talk to him, possibly more freely." Her gaze turned toward the scenery outside. "He trusts you, I think, but he knows you, does that make sense?"

"No, it don't," he bit out. "I'll give you one shot, but I'm going to his brothers one way or another."

She pursed her lips, considering his words. "Could you give me a few days? I know that's asking a bit much, but I think I can get through to him. I just need some time."

The towheaded teen swore awhile. "You should have thought of that sooner, don't you think? It would have saved a lot of trouble for me." He shook his head. "Christ a'mighty."

Ella blinked in confusion. "Trouble?"

"Maybe if you would have suggested that last week, I wouldn't have had to waste my time tracking the kid down all fucking weekend," he snapped. "And maybe, you could have gotten through to him earlier today."

"I was trying to, but then we ran into you," she replied coolly, crossing her arms. "But I'll take care of it this week, and if I—"

"Yeah, yeah," Dally interrupted, brushing her off. "You do whatever you think you're gonna do. Just let me know when I'll be visiting his brothers."

Ella was growing furious. She loathed the fact that Dallas didn't trust her, that he automatically was assuming that she would fail. It was those things about him that made her despise him sometimes, and she was becoming impatient with his behavior toward her. She was already dealing with Craig, and she didn't Winston's crap on top of that.

"How dare you," she practically snarled, turning a little in the seat to face him. "I came to you because I trusted you enough, and you treat me like I'm worthless or something. Well, I've got news for you, Winston, I'm not doing any of this for your benefit, and I'm not going to sit here and listen to you putting me down all the time, either."

The blond chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling at her. "How about you tell me where in the hell you got your information about this George character? I'll see if I trust you then."

He was playing her, she knew, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. She could either tell him that it was Cherry Valance, or she could keep her mouth shut and wait to talk to Ponyboy. It wasn't that she required Dallas's trust at all—the fact that she approached him with the information should have shown that she was trusting him enough to even tell him.

"What good will that do?" she decided to ask.

Dallas sneered. "At least I'll know that this ain't some fucking scam against Ponyboy. Besides, why would anyone tell _you_ about the kid?"

Ella felt her blood run cold. She hadn't exposed Craig and she didn't intend to. Glory, if Dallas was questioning that, she might as well bolt before he could start guessing. She needed to talk to Craig about Ponyboy and George first. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to during lunch, having been interrupted by Kevin and his girlfriend. She would have to talk to Ponyboy first before questioning Craig, and if he didn't tell her the truth, then she would move to her next plan.

"Maybe because they knew I was hanging around with him and tutoring you," she lied, trying to make herself sound like she was guessing.

He didn't believe her. "You have until the end of this week to talk to Ponyboy, and then I'm going right to his brothers." He gave her a hard look. "I don't like people keeping shit from me, especially when it comes to my gang."

Ella felt her chest tightening, wondering how she was going to go about this. Glory, the only place she seemed to be going—if anywhere—was down. How had she ever gotten herself wrapped up in this mess?

 _And I'm going down_

 _All the way_

* * *

 **A HUGE thank you for all the positive feedback on this story! It's so very much appreciated! :3**

 **On another note, if you haven't already, please check out "God Help the Girls" by Bratpack 2.0, a multi-chapter collaborative effort between** ** _AndThatWasEnough,_** ** _lulusgardenfli_** **, and I, which focuses on and centers around the girls from the book, including some of our own characters!**


	25. Double-Edged People and Schemes

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Lorde owns "A World Alone."**

* * *

 _Raise a glass, 'cause I'm not done saying it_

 _They all wanna get rough, get away with it_

 **January 13, 1966**

Thursday came quicker than what Ella would have liked. Following Ponyboy Curtis around and trying to talk to him alone proved harder than what it sounded like, and Ella was beginning to grow more anxious and concerned. She'd been getting along fine with Craig for the sake of it, but she knew that he was keeping things from her, and that upset her.

Since trailing the younger boy around in school, Ella had a pretty solid layout of his schedule, and she planned to speak to him one way or another that afternoon. She was going to prove Dallas wrong, too; she just had to get the kid alone and pry the information regarding George Clayton and her boyfriend from him.

"Hey, baby," Craig greeted, kissing her once on the lips. He smiled, then. "You feel like going out this evening?"

The girl was surprised. Her brows raised, lips parting a bit, as her eyes met his. Craig hadn't asked her out all week. The two had only spent their time together during the school day, so it was a shock that he was suddenly interested in taking her out again. Something about it made her feel off, but it wasn't enough to alarm her. Besides, she had to play it cool, or else Craig would suspect something was up, and Ella didn't want to deal with that on top of everything else.

She feigned a smile of her own. "Sure. I'm not working anyway."

"Yeah?" he said, fingering the stray pieces of her hair. "How about we do something together, just you and me?"

"I'd like that."

He took the seat next to her, leaning one arm against the lab table. "We haven't been spending much time together, huh?" A sigh. "You know, I miss you, El."

The brown-haired girl's eyes widened for a split second as she considered his words. She felt her cheeks heating up at the underlying insinuation, but she forced herself to remain collected. Craig was still her boyfriend, and she still liked him . . . _a lot._ Glory, when had she become such a love-struck girl?

A thought crossed her mind, then, one that could potentially help further her plan involving George and Ponyboy. Being with Craig alone would lend her the time she needed to speak with him, which was the second part of what she wanted to do. She just needed to get to Ponyboy first before she could move on to Craig.

The thought caused her to inwardly shudder, but she brushed it off, offering her boyfriend a light peck on the cheek. "I miss you, too."

* * *

Dallas had better weeks. He was becoming more rigid, well, ever since he put his trust into his dopey tutor a few days back. Thing was, he was ultimately waiting for her to fail, waiting for her to come back to him and tell him that she hadn't been able to get through to the kid. Ponyboy was getting awfully hard to talk to, but the hood had backed off when he agreed to let Ella do her thing.

He hadn't seen the girl since Monday, since he had served a detention with Mrs. Girdlé Wednesday afternoon, which would have been their usual tutoring day. On the other hand, Dallas was slightly glad that he didn't have to spend his time with the air-headed broad, having found more pleasure in scrubbing off paintbrushes.

Yeah, right. Who the hell was he kidding?

The blond wasn't sure why he'd ever agreed to let Ella work on talking to Ponyboy to begin with. _He_ was the one who had discovered the note, _he_ was the one who buddied around with the kid, _he_ was the one who fucking looked out for him . . . Why hadn't he just gone to Darry in the beginning? Dallas normally didn't care about anyone else, let alone their feelings, so why in the fuck had he let himself be convinced that Ella fucking Mitchell had more of a shot than he did?

"Mr. Winston?" his English teacher called. "Are you with us?"

The teen scowled in response. "Sure."

"Then, perhaps, you wouldn't mind answering the question."

"Depends on the question."

There were a few snickers around the room, but Mr. Gregory was having none of it. Dallas knew that the man didn't like him, and that was just fine with him because he didn't like him, either. Usually, the two ignored each other, but there were those sporadic moments when the man would enjoy trying to get a rise out of the teen.

Mr. Gregory shot him a look. "Don't get wise, Mr. Winston, or you'll find yourself taking a trip to Mr. Davis's office, is that clear?" He shook his head, before calling on another student.

Dally sunk a bit in his seat, propping his boots up on the chair in front of him, which earned him a sharp glare from the girl who was sitting there. He merely smirked at her, silently encouraging her to say something to him. After all, he hadn't been in a good argument since his last encounter with Ella; he was almost looking forward to starting one with her the next time he saw her.

Glory, but he was getting soft, he thought with a cringe. He'd let a dumb broad, one he didn't even like, do his work, he'd let Ponyboy get the upper hand, well, at least _think_ he did, he was pussying out of talking to Darry because of the dumb broad, and to top it all off, he hadn't done anything worthwhile with himself since he and Shepard crashed Clayton's party.

Speaking of Clayton, it was Thursday, and Dallas was eagerly awaiting Ella's news, all but waiting for her failure. Well, that was fine with him, too, because he had his own plans for George Clayton just as soon as he was finished talking to Superman.

* * *

Ponyboy was glad that nobody had been harping on him that week. He had hardly spoken to Dally since their last encounter, and he was actually content with the fact that he hadn't been around the hood; he finally felt like he was able to breathe again, without the constant glares and remarks from the blond teen. Ever since he'd snatched that note from him, Dally had become an utter thorn in his side, and Pony was getting mighty sick of it.

He was actually all too happy that Steve Randle was now spending his lunch back at the school, as it distracted the boys' attention from him. He'd even gone as far as to ask Two-Bit if he wanted to spend more time studying, but the older teen merely brushed it off. Apparently, he was content enough where his grades were, so he'd backed out of the tutoring a bit. Deep down, Pony was more than happy with that, too, because it allowed him more freedom.

Unfortunately, with that freedom came Dallas, and the red-headed teen had spent a great deal of time avoiding him as much as he could during the school day. He was a bit surprised when Dally stopped following him around, even ignored him at lunch, and the younger boy figured that he'd just given up.

Still, the fact that he still had that note unsettled him. Well, there wasn't much he could do with it, except go to Darry, or even Soda, but what could they really do? Everyone knew that George Clayton was giving him trouble a few months back, but as far as they were concerned, the issue had stopped after Two-Bit and Steve had dealt with it, well, more like threatened George through Cherry Valance.

When the bell rang, Ponyboy gathered up his books and exited the classroom, eagerly heading to his locker. He was ready to meet up with the guys for lunch and get out of class for a while, even if that involved hanging around Dallas. Unfortunately, for him, life had other plans, and he was forced to stop when he heard a voice calling out his name.

Cherry Valance came to a halt beside him, clutching her books to her chest and frantically looking around the hall as if she were nervous to be talking to him.

"Hi, Cherry," he greeted, lowering his chin as the two fell in step. "How've you been?"

The older girl seemed to be in a hurry, not that he could blame her. Glory, but it sure made him feel awfully lousy. He liked Cherry well enough, but the fact that she was still nervous to speak to him in public because of their social statuses upset him.

"I don't have a lot of time, but I wanted to check in on you," she replied, eyes meeting his for a split second. "It's nothing personal, you know."

"Sure," he said, and sighed. "I'm fine."

Cherry nodded, tilting her head down so her hair blocked her face a little. "So, I know a while ago we spoke about this, and you said nothing was going on, but I wanted to make sure." The pair came to a stop at the younger teen's locker. "George Clayton isn't bothering you still, is he?"

Ponyboy's eyes widened at the question, but he remained cool. "No. Why?"

The red-headed girl bit down on her bottom lip. Ponyboy could tell that something was eating at her, and that made him uneasy. Cherry was usually calm and collected, cool to the point that it seemed as though nothing could get to her, although he knew that wasn't true. Cherry was a strong girl, one who didn't always let on how she felt about things, but deep down, the two were alike in many ways.

"Well, I'm sure you know by now that your friends, Two-Bit and the other boy—"

"Steve?" he assumed, placing a textbook inside his locker. He turned back to face her after a second, eyes sincere. "I heard about what happened. I'm sorry about it, too." Dropping his shoulders, the teen released a deep sigh. "Gee, I guess I should've said something sooner. I am sorry."

Cherry smiled. "It's alright, Ponyboy. I'm sorry, too." She gazed around the hall. "About what I said, I mean. I say one thing and still do the other." At his expression of bafflement, she continued with a shake of her head. "About the social cliques. I _am_ sick of it, Ponyboy, really I am. Sometimes, though, I just . . . simply forget and go on and on with this version of myself, then I often forget who I really am. Does that make sense?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah."

Before the two could continue their conversation, Ella Mitchell rounded the corner, her eyes downcast as she approached them. She and Cherry exchanged smiles, before her attention turned to Ponyboy, who seemed just as surprised to see her. There was a glimmer of something else reflecting in his gaze, something that Ella was unable to decipher.

Cherry forced away her look of disappointment. It wasn't that she was upset that Ella had shown up, but she had wanted to talk to Ponyboy about something—something which actually involved George Clayton and Craig Bryant. Unfortunately, she'd lost that opportunity when Ella arrived, so she decided that she would politely take her leave.

If anything, Ella had probably spoken to Dallas Winston about the matter, but Cherry could only hope that the girl hadn't mentioned her name to the hood. It's not that she didn't trust him, although she was still wary of him, but she didn't want to get involved with him, even if it was just to look out for Ponyboy.

"Well, I'd better go," she said, nodding once to the other two. "I'll see you around, Ponyboy."

"Sure," he replied, his gaze trailing after her. Closing his locker, he faced Ella. Golly, he was popular that day, wasn't he? "Hey, Ella."

Before he could walk, she side-stepped in front of him. "I was . . . I was wondering if you had some time to talk. It's rather important."

The younger teen gave her an odd look. "What about?"

Ella felt her eyes widening, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn't tell Ponyboy that she was there to discuss his problem with George Clayton or her boyfriend—that would most likely cause him to stalk off without letting her get a word in, and then she wouldn't have anything to relay to Dallas.

Instead, she said the first thing that came to mind. "Dallas."

The younger teen's brows pulled together in sheer confusion as he wondered what on earth Dally's tutor could want to discuss with him. He thought that they were back to their regular schedule, or at least, that was what Dallas had told him the other day. Still, he imagined that his buddy was either giving her a hard time again, or she was going to ask him about helping her out, which didn't exactly make a whole lot of sense.

He agreed, though, against his better judgment. "Alright, sure."

And then she grinned, almost appearing relieved. "You mind spending your lunch period in the library?"

* * *

Ella felt a little uncomfortable, unsure of where to start. She hadn't wanted to discuss Dallas Winston at all, not really anyway. She wondered how in the world she was going to start a conversation with the younger boy in front of her about her boyfriend. Perhaps she could just start with George Clayton? No, that would anger him and cause her entire plan to fail.

Licking her lips, she turned her attention to him. "I . . . actually didn't want to talk about Dallas." She felt odd, then, her cheeks heating up a bit.

Ponyboy looked perplexed, and she couldn't blame him. "What did you want to talk about?"

"You know my boyfriend, right?" she said quickly, wishing that she had enough courage to just spit out what she needed to say. "Craig Bryant?"

She didn't miss the flicker of resentment that shadowed his face for a second. "Yeah. Why?"

He stared at her intently, as if he was attempting to figure out what she could want to discuss. Ponyboy was feeling awfully weird. Of course, he liked Ella as a person, thought she was a decent girl, but she was certainly a bit strange—Dally had been right about that. He couldn't imagine why she would ever want to talk about her boyfriend, especially with him of all people. Something didn't feel right about talking to her, then.

"There's no easy way to say this, I guess, but—" She paused, eyes meeting his. "I know what's been going on with him and George Clayton . . . and you." Before he could even utter a response, she beat him to it, holding a hand up. "I don't want to pressure you into talking to me, Ponyboy, but if Craig is, or has been, bothering you along with George, I need you to tell me."

The younger teen was indignant. "Did Dally put you up to this?"

"What? No, of course not!" she countered, voice even. "No, he didn't." A sigh. "Look, Ponyboy, I was told some things about Craig, well, him _and_ George, and I know that it wasn't you who started that fight back in November. I just need you to be honest with me, please." Her eyes were becoming glassy by then. "I just need to know the truth."

Ponyboy didn't like it when girls got upset like that, but he didn't want to admit the truth to Ella about her boyfriend. He wondered how she could possibly know anything, although the fact that she believed he wasn't the one who had started that fight with George did make him feel rather relieved.

"I'm not covering for anyone," he said after a minute. "And if this is about Dallas—"

"It's not," she interrupted, forcing herself to remain calm. Well, that wasn't the complete truth, but it was close enough. "It's about Craig." She pursed her lips for a second. "Look, I know you've been having problems with George Clayton, that's no secret, but I need to know if Craig Bryant was involved with it."

Ponyboy leaned forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the table. "What difference will it make?"

"A lot."

The two were quiet for a second, before Ponyboy spoke up again. He wasn't afraid of George Clayton, and he wasn't afraid of Craig Bryant or Kevin Rogers, either. In his mind, he knew that there really wasn't a reason to be withholding any information from his friends—the gang and his brothers mostly. It occurred to him that Ella had either been tipped off about George Clayton and her boyfriend, or she was suspicious of them, but he went with the former.

She seemed more upset than anything, and he couldn't sit there and lie to her face about her boyfriend, could he?

"How did you find out about it?" he asked. "George and Craig?"

And that's when Ella opened the can of beans and spilled them to the younger teen who was sitting across from her. Well, she was one step ahead from where she started; Ponyboy had indirectly told her that Craig _was_ involved, which she already knew. The verification of Cherry's words made her heart sink in her chest; all this time she had been nothing short of a fool. Craig was playing her after all, and now she knew everything.

After her explanation, Ponyboy remained silent, seemingly lost in thought. She wondered if he would just get up and leave her there, not bothering to address the situation further, but she had to let him know that she could help him, well, help put an end to Craig's and George's persecution.

"So," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, "Cherry told you, huh?"

She nodded in affirmation. "She did. If I knew that Craig was involved, Ponyboy, I would have done something sooner." A sigh. "I know we're more acquainted through Dallas, but I'd like to think that we're friends, or that we could be." Their eyes met. "I think you're awfully nice, Ponyboy, and I _would_ like to be friends."

"Yeah," he agreed, and offered her a vague smile. "Listen, I didn't mean to come off like that earlier, you know—"

Ella shook her head. "I get it."

"So what are you going to do?"

In truth, Ponyboy felt off with the entire situation. Ella knew about the note from George through Dally, not that he could actually prove that it was from him. He wondered about his friend's tutor, then, considering what was up her sleeve when it came to her boyfriend. It suddenly made him feel lousy that he hadn't been honest with her, that he had concealed this information from her—that Craig wasn't really a nice guy.

All those months he had seen the two of them together, and all those months Craig had been involved with George and Kevin, who had been trying to get over on him because of the issue back in September with Johnny Cade and Bob Sheldon. It wasn't right, he told himself, but he felt much better that the truth was finally free, and that Ella knew about Craig. A part of him felt almost guilty that he was one of the causes of her finding out, but there was nothing either of them could do now.

Ella feigned a smile. "Well, for one, you could be honest with Dallas." Pushing her hair away from her face, her eyes rose to the clock over the entrance of the library. "Don't mention anything about Craig to him. Just let me handle him, please."

The younger teen looked mildly upset, but he didn't comment on it. "Yeah, alright, Ella." He followed her gaze, realizing that there wasn't much time left. "Does Craig know you're here?"

She shook her head. "Told him I was retaking a quiz for English."

The two paused at the door just as the bell rang. "Well, nothing's been happening with George recently, well, except the note, but he hasn't acted on it."

The girl shrugged. "Well, let me take care of Craig first."

Ponyboy deadpanned. "Fine. Just . . . be careful, alright?"

"Of course," she replied as they stepped out into the crowding hallway. "I'm real glad that we had this talk, Ponyboy. Don't worry about George or anything. I'll deal with Craig tonight."

"Tonight?" he questioned, octave rising a little. He looked almost shocked. "You aren't—"

"No," she breathed. "No. Just trust me."

Before the younger teen could respond, the sight of white-blond hair entered his view from across the hallway, and he quickly bit back what he was going to say. He knew now that he would have to come forward to Dallas, but he wondered what would happen with Ella and Craig. He just hoped that this wasn't some kind of setup, and that Ella was being truthful.

"Dallas," Ella greeted, tone firm. The towhead merely stared, one small movement of his jaw letting him know that he had acknowledged the girl. "Are we still on for tomorrow?"

Dallas didn't miss the almost triumphant sound in her voice. "Yeah, whatever, sweets."

Before taking her leave, the brown-haired girl offered one last grin to Ponyboy before she disappeared around the corner, leaving him and Dally off to the side of the hall surrounded by a swarm of other students who were headed to their afternoon classes.

"You spent your lunch with that dope?" Dallas asked, bewilderment laced in his voice. "We were wondering what happened to you, kid."

Ponyboy brushed him off. "Yeah, well, you didn't need to."

The older teen watched the boy stalk off, and judging from his souring mood and Ella's expression, one which strongly reflected victory, he knew the broad had kept her end of the bargain. She had gotten through to the kid. The only thing left to do now was get Ponyboy to confess to him and the boys, and there was only one way he was going to do that, one which started with Ella Mitchell.

* * *

Craig was hoping for a good time with his girlfriend that evening, but she seemed completely off about something, and he was growing irritated with her behavior. He was usually up to spending time with her, especially if that time involved making-out or dancing, or other upbeat activities, but the girl wasn't up for any of it.

He sighed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes drifting to the cup of soda that was secured in Ella's grasp and the open bag of food that sat between them untouched. He wondered what could possibly be bothering her, but he normally didn't inquire. Whenever Ella had a beef, she was never shy about sharing it, no matter what.

The boy became impatient. "What's wrong with you tonight?"

That got her attention. "What?"

"You're awfully quiet, you know," he replied, pursing his lips. "If I knew you weren't up to talking or anything, I wouldn't have suggested taking you out earlier."

Ella shot him a look. "Am I not allowed to keep quiet, Craig?"

And there it was—the beginning of an argument. Even though the couple had made up, something, no matter how insignificant it seemed, somehow would stir up some minor dispute. Ella had been awfully cranky that week, and he just wasn't in the mood to deal with it. He had his own problems to deal with, and he didn't need her crap added to the pile, girlfriend or not.

He ground his teeth. "You could've suggested we see a movie or something instead. At least I wouldn't be sitting here bored out of my mind in dead silence."

"Well, excuse me," she returned, crossing her arms, the sound of the ice moving around in the cup being the only other noise. "I didn't mean to bore you so much."

Craig leaned back in the seat, biting back the remark on his tongue. He didn't want to fight, he didn't want to . . . well, he didn't want to do anything now. Ella had spoiled his mood, _again_ , but he was curious to know what could possibly be distressing her this much.

"I'm sorry," he said after a minute. "You're not boring me. I just want to know what's going on with you, and you're not talking to me."

She raised an eyebrow. "I was thinking about Ponyboy Curtis."

"Curtis? Why?"

Ella could tell that the statement alone unnerved him. Sure he had agreed to not give her any grief about befriending the kid, but she knew that mentioning him always got under his skin, and not only him, but Dallas Winston, too. She had gotten the truth from Cherry Valance, she had gotten a confession from Ponyboy, and now she just needed to hear one from Craig, whatever that took.

"I know what's been going on," she divulged, turning her head a little to face him. "With George."

Her boyfriend did his best to appear innocent, but the shock was ever present in his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he snapped. "Did Curtis say something? Or is this about that fight that happened between him and George back in November?"

Ella's face scrunched in anger, eyes narrowing. "No. I hardly talk to Ponyboy, Craig. I have other sources who told me about you and George, and what you've been doing. I just can't believe you've been harassing Ponyboy because of Bob Sheldon's death all those months ago." She shook her head, her disgust surfacing. "You've made me look like a complete fool."

Craig was speechless. He wondered who could have possibly said anything to Ella about George, or him, or anything, but he only came to a blank. He wasn't sure what to say or do, hell, he couldn't even lie to her because she _knew_ , and she knew everything. He remembered George's words to him a week ago . . .

 _But here's what I want you to do for me. See if you can find out if Curtis had anything to do with those greasers crashing my party. Let your girlfriend get cozy with the kid, and see if he slips up. I have a feeling his buddies were the ones who did it . . ._

"Well?" Ella said, snapping him from his thoughts. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I don't know," he answered, not bothering to look at her. How could he? "I mean, hell, Ella, what do you want me to say?"

"The truth for starters."

"Well, you seem to have it, don't you?" he bit out, arms flailing. "Are you happy with yourself? Let me guess . . . Curtis cried to his greaser pals about it, and that's why they crashed George's party."

Now Ella looked dumbstruck. "What?"

Craig was staring at her, his eyes hard. "Oh, don't play stupid, El. Whose side are you on here?"

The girl was livid. "I'm clearly not on _anyone's_ side." She jerked around in the seat. "And you know what, Craig? _You're_ going to fix this. I don't give a damn what you have to do, but if you don't, I will go to Mr. Davis myself and tell him everything."

"I don't think that would be in either of our best interests, El."

She glared at him. "I think it would be, unless George doesn't value that scholarship."

Ella knew she had him, then. She had been doing a great deal of digging quietly in the background, planning her way to trap her boyfriend, no matter how cruel it sounded. Truthfully, she didn't want to hurt anyone, but getting Craig to stop George was the only thing she could think to do, because Mr. Davis surely wouldn't believe that one of the star students of Will Rogers High School could honestly be doing anything that George was.

Craig's hands had balled into fists. "I don't believe you."

"I think George's note would go a long way," she bluffed, raising her chin a little. "Besides, I have plenty of people who would be willing to back me up."

"Anyone could have written that note," he responded. "George has plenty of friends, too, Ella, including me, or did you forget that?"

"Just stay away from Ponyboy, Craig," she warned, trying to make her voice sound firm. "Make sure that George does, too."

He merely sighed. "I can't do that."

"Then I will."

 _All the double-edged people and schemes_

 _They make a mess then go home and get clean_

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated! :3**

 **If y'all haven't already, be sure to check out "God Help the Girls" by Bratpack 2.0, a multi-chapter collaborative effort by _AndThatWasEnough_ , _lulusgardenfli_ , and I, which focuses on and centers around the girls from the book, featuring some of our own characters from "Don't Think Twice"/"Sins of the Saints", "Green Light", and "The Visit" :) **


	26. Ain't Exactly Clear

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Buffalo Springfield owns "For What It's Worth."**

* * *

 _There's something happening here_

 _But what it is ain't exactly clear_

 **January 14, 1966**

A honk from outside alerted the Curtis brothers of somebody's arrival. They expected the person to be Two-Bit, since he had been driving Ponyboy to school for the past week. But when the youngest member of the household's expression turned to one of sheer surprise, eyebrows pulling together in bewilderment, Soda followed his gaze out the window.

"Is that Dally?" he asked, moving closer to peer out.

Ponyboy nodded. "Yeah. I wonder what he's doing here."

"Maybe he's gonna drive you today," Soda replied, pulling his jacket on. "Good thing, too, 'specially with that snow coming down; Two-Bit's car don't do much to keep one warm."

"You ready, Soda?" Darry's voice boomed from the kitchen, the sound of his work boots heavy across the floor. He glanced out the living room window. "That sure is coming down mighty heavy."

"Reckon they'll call school?"

"Don't get your hopes up, little brother."

Soda grinned at the two. "Hey now, remember that one time Dad drove us to school in that snow storm because Mom didn't want us walking, and the truck broke down right in the middle of Maine?"

"We stood for nearly a half hour in Mrs. Greene's antique shop waiting for Uncle Hugh to get there with his tools," Ponyboy reminisced. "He had to pull the car into the lot."

"What a day," Darry joined in, shaking his head. "At least Dad let us skip out on school."

Another honk sounded, pulling the three brothers from their thoughts. Darry peered around Soda to see who was outside, and at the sight of Buck Merril's T-Bird in front of the house, his brows raised up in slight confusion.

"What's Dallas doing here?" he asked just as Ponyboy pulled the door open and held up his index finger, mouthing "one minute."

Soda shrugged. "Beats me. Dally don't hardly come around here."

"Hardly?" Darry repeated, reaching for his jacket. "You mean he doesn't, plain and simple."

"Well, at least he's _around_ ," came the response. "He'll start coming around more often . . . eventually. I'm sure he just needs some time."

The three didn't say anything else as they shuffled out into the frosty air, the cold biting at any visible piece of flesh that was vulnerable to it. Ponyboy hugged his jacket tighter, clutching his books against his chest, even though his fingers were beginning to numb.

"What the hell took so long?" Dallas asked once the younger teen was inside the car.

"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting you, for one," Pony stated, placing his books on the floor between his feet. At the look the blond gave him, he continued. "I was talking with my brothers."

"Well, we've got some talkin' to do."

The younger boy released a sigh. He knew this would be coming, and soon, he just didn't expect it to be _this_ soon. Glory, it was only yesterday that he had spoken to Ella Mitchell, and he knew that she and Dally didn't have their sessions on Thursdays, so he wondered what information Dally was going to attempt to pry out of him, unless it was about that stupid note, which he suspected. Either way, though, he had to admit the truth, no matter what, especially since he'd already spoken to Ella.

"Can't wait," he responded, not bothering to conceal his irritation.

The hood ground his teeth. "Don't get mouthy, kid."

"Is this about George Clayton and that note you took from me?"

"Listen to that brain of yours working this early in the morning."

Ponyboy leaned his head back against the seat, ignoring the older boy's sarcasm. "Well, I've already told you that I can't be sure that it came from him, not directly at least." A sigh. "Look, Dallas, George and his friends were bothering me because of . . . well, because of Johnny." The last part came out softer than the rest, but Dallas merely blew it off. "George was a buddy of Bob Sheldon's, and he's just out for revenge, I guess."

"And you haven't told your brothers?"

"No. I don't see the point," he answered, voice laced with aversion. "I was already suspended for that fight back in November, so it ain't like Mr. Davis is gonna believe my side of the story anyway. And besides—"

Dallas's face scrunched up in anger, his grip tight around the steering wheel. "No, kid! There ain't any _besides_ shit. When's the last time this clown hassled you?"

He shrugged. "Nothing happened since I received that note."

"Nothing, huh?"

"No." It wasn't a complete lie, he told himself.

The blond stared out the window, eyes blazing in anger. Well, Ella Mitchell had done her job, but there wasn't anything to act on with it, unless she knew something that he didn't, which he intended to find out one way or the other.

* * *

Ella hadn't really expected Craig to speak to her at all that day, hadn't expected him to pick her up that morning, either, which he didn't. Her mother had ended up driving her, which wasn't an inconvenience for her anyway, considering that she had to work. Still, Ella felt somewhat upset about her dispute with her boyfriend the night prior, but she knew that getting the truth out in the open was best.

Craig hadn't spoken to her in biology, didn't even spare her a glance as he walked on by. She knew that he was angry with her, especially since she had threatened his best friend indirectly. It wasn't as if she could really act on anything, though, well, not truly at least.

The girl felt bad for both Ponyboy and Craig; she knew that Craig was only acting on what George wanted, even if he thought it was wrong. The thought of George made her uneasy, and she hoped that Craig wouldn't go back and tell George what they had spoken about, but she had a feeling that Craig, out of pure anger and deceit, would do just that.

What she didn't expect that afternoon, before lunch, was to run into Dallas Winston at her locker, who seemed to be waiting for her. She had a sneaking suspicion about what he wanted, but she had no intention of speaking to him about her conversation with Ponyboy until after school. She didn't want to risk any chance of Craig seeing them, even though it really wouldn't matter. It was the principle behind things.

"Dallas," she greeted nimbly, opening her locker door. "What are you doing here?"

The blond leaned beside her. "Came to talk to ya. That okay?"

"Not really," she bit out sternly. "I don't have time right now."

Dallas looked annoyed. "Oh, excuse me, _your highness._ I didn't realize that you were busy during your lunch break."

Ella glared, gritting her teeth. "For your information, _hood,_ I have things to take care of, so if this is about Ponyboy, I'll talk to you after school."

He wondered when she had become so snappy, or brave, even. Still, it wasn't exactly safe to get mouthy with him, especially when he was in a sour mood. In fact, Dallas was ready to knock someone's block off, and Ella fucking Mitchell was two seconds away from making that fantasy a reality if she didn't comply with him.

"Who the hell do you think yer talkin' to, huh?" he bit out, daring a step closer to her. "Ponyboy ain't some lousy kid you can just side pass when it comes to his safety—"

She cut him off, then. "Well, he's safe for the time being."

"Yeah, right."

"I'll see you later, Dallas." And with that, the brown-haired girl turned on her heel, leaving him there with a look of pure aggravation. He was going to rip her a new one when he saw her next; no one talked to him like that. No one.

* * *

Ponyboy made his way to the cafeteria for lunch. It was too cold to sit outside—he was surprised the school hadn't decided to send everyone home with how nasty it had gotten. Glory, it would surely be worse by the time the day actually ended.

The cafeteria was crowded by the time he'd gotten there, but it wasn't too hard to spot Two-Bit, Steve, and Evie. He almost groaned at the thought of Steve's girl spending lunch with them. It wasn't that he really disliked her, but he wasn't too fond of her, either. She was nice, well, _could_ be, but she was still a typical greaser girl, as far as he knew.

The teen was about to cut through the growing body of students who were forming a line just to buy their lunch when he caught sight of fiery red hair—Cherry Valance. Oddly enough, she noticed him, too, giving him a small, practically concealed, smile. Ponyboy wasn't exactly sure what possessed him to do it, but he carefully made his way over to her table, leaning down just a bit to speak to her.

"Thank you," he said quietly, smiling softly.

The girl gave him a questioning look, but then realization crossed her face. "Oh, it was no problem, Ponyboy."

"It was," he replied. "You didn't have to, well, you didn't have to talk to Ella about everything. She did speak to me, though, and we're going to clear everything up."

Cherry nodded. "Well, that's great. I'm glad to hear it."

Noticing the slight anxiety in her tone, he knew his time was up. Besides, he really didn't want to get caught up in dealing with her friends, so he decided to take his leave, wishing that status still wasn't an issue between them. Of course, Cherry _did_ care about her reputation, even if it did seem like she was coming off as cold. He knew she wasn't, and because she had helped him out numerous times, he didn't mind all that much.

"See you around," he said, and headed in the direction of his friends. He knew that Cherry would get his message about Ella, but he didn't need to mention anything else. He wasn't sure that everything was actually being taken care of, but he could only hope.

Ponyboy wasn't sure what Dally had planned, and he wasn't quite sure how Ella Mitchell became a part of it, except through her boyfriend. Glory, this school year was certainly different than any other, he thought, pushing those thoughts aside.

Whatever happened, he just hoped it wouldn't turn out like last September.

* * *

If Craig was honest with himself, which he was at that particular moment, he was beyond angry. He had been contemplating Ella's words to him all morning, and the only conclusion he could come up with was to tell George. Hell, he was through taking orders from people, and not just George and Kevin, or his other friends, but Ella, too.

He was going to tell George everything that afternoon, and he was going to let him know that he was done playing this game with him and Ella. It was over, well, not completely, but he had a sure enough feeling that he and Ella were finished. He almost felt bad about it, but she had gone behind his back and then thoroughly accused him outright.

He spotted George before the other teen even noticed his presence. Of course, he had asked George to meet him during lunch to deal with a certain situation, one which involved both Curtis and Ella. He was sure that George thought he had good news, and he couldn't wait to see the look of surprise that would cross his face when he found out otherwise.

"Craig," his friend called out, drawing his attention. "What's up?"

Craig eyed him coolly. "Told you I wanted to talk, didn't I?"

"Yeah, about the Curtis kid," he remembered, resting his arm against the wall. "Well?"

The brown-haired teen crossed his arms, sighing. "I'm through, George. I'm done with all of this, and that includes Ella—"

"Whoa, whoa," George cut in, stepping in front of Craig. "What are you raving about?"

And that's when Craig, out of humiliation and rage, told George everything that had taken place with him and Ella the night before. Hell, it wouldn't have been so awful if Ella hadn't been smart enough to actually figure everything out, but she had, and now Craig was stuck with no escape route. If he didn't act immediately, she would come after George—turn him in—and Craig couldn't let that happen. He was part of the mess, too.

George merely stared at him for a minute. "How does she know about my—"

"I don't know!" Craig barked out. "But she does. I don't even know who filled her ears with all of this, but she threatened to turn us in, and I'm not having it."

"Neither am I," came the harsh response. "Tell you what I'm going to do, Craig . . . We'll leave the kid alone for now and let Ella Mitchell think that she has the upper hand here, you know, play it cool. And when she's off her guard, well—"

"George!" his friend practically shouted. "I'm done with everything. I'm not helping you."

The other teen was taken back by his friend's hot temper, but he backed off a little. "Fine. You want out, you're out, Craig. Don't worry about anything."

"What about Ella?"

"Don't worry about her, either."

George turned on his heel, shaking his head as he walked away. Sure, he wouldn't bother with the kid anymore; he had a new target he was after. Ella Mitchell had threatened him, his future even, and he was going to make sure that she knew who she was messing with.

He didn't need Craig, or anyone, for that.

* * *

Ella, true to her word, met Dallas out in the parking lot after school. She spotted him easily enough, his stark blond hair not hard to miss. He was leaning against the T-Bird, smoking a cigarette, one hand stuffed inside his pocket. The girl assumed that he must have been freezing, especially standing in the falling snow, but as she surveyed the scene, she realized he wasn't the only one doing so.

She raised her chin a little as she approached him, glaring once to let him know that she wasn't going to be pushed around that afternoon. He had already angered her before their lunch period, and she wasn't in the mood for his insufferable nonsense. He took one look at her, before dropping his cigarette butt onto the icy gravel, glaring straight back at her.

Before she could mutter her greeting, though, she slid on an icy patch a few feet from his car, one leg flying up and sending her back down with a hard _thud_. Her bag flew from her grasp, a few of her items spilling out around her, as she slid a couple of inches on her bottom. Laughter rang out around her as her face heated up in pure embarrassment.

The girl's gaze drifted up as Dallas's boots appeared in her vision, lips pressing into a thin line as she looked at the smirk on his face. He was unable to conceal the amused expression that was reflecting in his eyes, and Ella ground her teeth, ignoring the pain as she attempted to stand.

"Will you do an encore?" the blond teased, sticking an arm out to help her up, not that he honestly cared to. It was just the _least_ he could do . . . for helping out the kid.

She swatted his hand away. "Don't help me!" She watched as he retracted, grabbing for her books and other assorted items and stuffing them inside of her bag. "That wasn't even funny."

"Sure, sure," he said, chuckling quietly to himself as the two made their way to the car. Wasn't funny, my ass, he thought with a shake of his head.

* * *

Ponyboy glanced down at the letter in his hands. Dale Franklin had finally responded, and it was the best news that he had gotten in quite some time. He was more than interested in moving along with the publication process, but he wanted to meet with Ponyboy personally at his office, which was over an hour away.

The teen didn't want to tell his brothers anything until he was certain that his book was going to be officially published—he wanted to hand them a finished product, see the looks on their faces when it was all said and done. Glory, he could just picture it happening. Darry's eyes would grow real big, and Soda would be so shocked he wouldn't know how to react first.

He would have to find the time to call Mr. Franklin to set up an appointment, but unfortunately, he didn't know when he would be able to respond. He couldn't do it at the house, unless everyone was out, and he surely didn't want to use the high school library, either. Perhaps he could just call the man now and get it over with, but he wasn't sure how to get there.

Well, there was always the bus, but Darry would definitely have a cow if he— An idea suddenly came to mind, a grin stretching across the teen's face. He could skip out of school early one day and be back before anyone could miss him. He would just tell the guys that he was doing some extra work during lunch so they didn't think to look for him. Golly, that sure sounded like a great plan.

He wondered if it would actually work, if he would get away with it, and before he knew it, he was dialing Mr. Franklin's number . . .

* * *

Against her likeness—and better judgment—Ella had agreed to let Dally drive her to Buck's for their tutoring session that afternoon. She wasn't happy one bit with the idea, but she really had no other choice, unless she suggested her house, which she most certainly wasn't going to. She would be damned if Dallas Winston ever stepped one foot inside of her house.

The roadhouse was somewhat warm, but it was still quite cool. The two teens sat in Dallas's rented room, one smoking a cigarette, and the other lazily reading over her homework while trying to pick out an easy assignment for the towheaded hood in front of her.

"So, I have a question," Ella said, not bothering to look up from her book.

Dally shrugged. "Don't know if I got an answer, but shoot."

She rolled her eyes. "Has any of this even helped with your grades?"

The blond blew out a ring of smoke, staring out the window. "Sure."

The answer surprised the girl. "Really?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Look, before we get onto this shit, I still wanna talk to you about Ponyboy." He closed the window before turning in her direction. "I didn't forget about it."

Of course he hadn't, she thought bitterly. The thought alone only caused her to think of Craig, and she suddenly felt even worse. She still liked him, _really_ liked him, and she wasn't sure what to make of the entire situation just yet. Had she honestly done the right thing? She didn't even know now, but some part of her was glad that she had told Craig the truth, and that she had gotten Ponyboy to admit his side of the story as well.

So why did she feel so . . . guilty?

"I didn't forget, either," she replied, placing her book onto her lap. "Did you talk to him?"

"This morning."

Ella sighed at his vague answer. "Well, I told him everything that I told you. He told me, in not so many words, that he believes that George wrote him that note. He also admitted that they've been bothering him since he—"

Dallas waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, I know the rest. Alright, so . . . that's it?"

She hummed in affirmation, biting her lip a little. She couldn't tell him about Craig, or that she had made Ponyboy promise that he wouldn't mention him or Cherry Valance, either. She didn't want to involve Craig in the mess, even though he was. Perhaps that was what was making her feel guilty—the fact that she was Craig's girlfriend and she was . . . well, she was playing both sides _and_ making Ponyboy agree to keep one of his "attackers" safe by not mentioning his name.

Glory, she was surely a fool.

Meanwhile, Dallas was formulating plans of his own. He couldn't directly take care of George Clayton, but he sure as hell could have him taken care of. He'd received his one pathetic warning, coming from Steve and Two-Bit, which obviously didn't get the message through enough. No, Dallas was going to make sure that Clayton knew not to fuck with his buddies.

"So," Ella muttered quietly. "Do you want to start with this?" She held up her English book.

He took it from her hands, looking it over once before placing it on the bed. "I'm gonna grab a drink or something first." As he approached the door, he stopped near the frame, not looking back at her. "You want somethin'?"

Ella's brows rose in astonishment. "Uh, whatever you're having."

As she watched him leave, she realized that this was the longest they had gone without fighting, or even arguing. Actually, it was the first time that neither of them started in on the other, and Ella was amazed by it. Still, she didn't fully like or trust Dallas Winston, but she _did_ prefer this side of him. She almost laughed when he came back a few minutes later with two beers in hand— _almost_.

 _It's time we stop_

 _Hey, what's that sound_

 _Everybody look what's going down_

* * *

 **Thank you for all the support and feedback on this story! It's very much appreciated! :3  
**

 **Happy Valentine's Day!**


	27. Play My Ace

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Blue Foundation owns "Eyes On Fire."**

* * *

 _I'm taking it slow_

 _Feeding my flame_

 _Shuffling the cards of your game_

 **January 19, 1966**

Ella hadn't uttered one word to Craig at all, and she was beginning to feel more and more guilty as the days went on. She told herself that she had done the right thing countless of times by confronting her boyfriend with the issue regarding Ponyboy Curtis, but she was still questioning her actions. Perhaps she had come off too harsh when she had threatened George?

With a heavy sigh, she shuffled around in her seat, turning to face Craig's lab table with a grim expression. She wondered if she should apologize, find out what was going on if she could, but then rationalized that the second half most likely wouldn't be answered. Still, she wanted to apologize for what she had said about George, and hoped that Craig would accept it.

As she walked toward his table, she felt like her throat was beginning to tighten, or that her stomach was knotting up. It was too late to turn back, though, because Craig had already noticed her, a sneer stretching across his face as the two made eye contact.

Ella stopped beside him. "Craig, can we talk for a minute?"

The boy turned his head away from her. "About what?"

"Well, I want to apologize . . . for what I said," she admitted, voice coming out softly as she twiddled her fingers together in front of herself.

"You want to apologize?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Well, it's a little too late for that, don't you think, or don't you really care?"

The brown-haired girl was dumb-founded. "No, Craig, I do care. If I didn't—"

He jerked around, then. "You know what, Ella? Save it. I don't care what you have to say about George or anything else. I'm through talking with him, and I'm certainly done talking with you. In fact, we're over, so just get lost." His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. "If you weren't just a distraction, I could have actually liked you."

The words hit her hard, blue eyes widening at the realization of them. "Distraction?"

Craig was seething by then. He was done with Ella Mitchell, and he was done with everything else. In the back of his mind, he knew that it wasn't really Ella's fault, but he was just so angry that he couldn't seem to think straight, and everything about her simply reminded him of what had taken place, so he did the only thing he could think to do at that moment—blame her.

"Yes, a distraction, Ella," he hissed, eyeing the other students who were entering the classroom. "If George never suggested to Mr. Davis that you tutor—" He came to an abrupt stop, mouth clamping shut as he realized that he was about to spill everything.

On the other hand, Ella's eyes were becoming glassier by the second. Craig didn't have to finish what he was going to say—she had gotten it, and she understood. Craig never actually liked her, not really at least. The last several months had been nothing but a lie, built up on George Clayton's revenge scheme against not only Ponyboy Curtis, but Dallas Winston, too.

George must have found out somehow, or some way, that Dallas Winston would be a student at Will Rogers High School back in October, and for whatever reason, he had made sure that Ella herself was assigned his tutor to use as a distraction to cause his failure and get to Ponyboy.

 _Now_ she knew everything.

The girl turned on her heel, practically rushing down the aisle and making a quick grab for her bag that was placed on the table. Before anyone could even realize that she was there, she ushered out of the room and headed to the bathroom, attempting to hide the tears that were falling down her face. Never, in all her life, had she felt so ashamed and humiliated.

Closing one of the stalls, Ella balled up some toilet paper and dabbed at her eyes, wishing more than anything that she could just stop crying. She told herself that Craig wasn't worth it, that he had only used her, that he had played her, had made her look like a complete fool. Why did she still have to like him, then? Why did it have to hurt this bad?

The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing alerted the girl of somebody's presence, and she quickly quieted her sobs and took a deep breath to calm herself, hoping that whoever had walked in would leave quickly. Unfortunately, whoever it was, entered a stall two down from her, and the sound of a lighter flicking told her that the person had lit a cigarette.

Ella had only tried smoking once, when she was a lot younger, although she never actually liked it. It made her clothes smell and her breath reek of nicotine, but right then, she would just about kill for something to take the edge off.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, before speaking out into the otherwise empty bathroom. "Do you have an extra?"

"Need a smoke?" came the response.

"If you don't mind?"

The stall opened and Ella followed suit, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets when she realized who she had asked to bum a cigarette from—Steve Randle's girlfriend, Evie.

The dark-haired girl glanced at her for a second, before smiling. "Ella Mitchell? I almost didn't recognize you." And then she raised a curious brow. "You okay?"

Ella nodded as Evie handed her a cigarette and her lighter. "Yeah."

"You don't look the type to smoke."

"I know," she replied quietly. "I just . . . I guess I—"

Evie held her hands up. "It's alright. You don't have to explain nothin'. I get it, believe me."

"Do you smoke in here often?" Ella inquired, inhaling deeply, trying to calm herself. The cigarette was nasty to her, but smoking felt better than occupying her thoughts with Craig.

The other girl shrugged. "Sometimes. You sure you're alright, though?"

Ella wanted to say no, admit that she wasn't, but she couldn't. "Yeah, I'm fine." She forced a smile onto her face. "Thanks for the cigarette."

Watching her retreat back into the stall, Evie frowned. She knew that the girl was lying, but it really wasn't her place to question her. Perhaps she would mention something to Steve about Dallas Winston's tutor, although it wasn't precisely their concern, either.

* * *

Ponyboy anxiously awaited second period to end. Today was the day that he would officially meet with Dale Franklin. He was nervous, that much was for certain, and his eyes kept shifting to the clock every few minutes as he counted down the minutes until he could bail. He had already mentioned to Two-Bit that he would be spending his lunch period with Mr. Collins to work on some extra credit. He was surprised that the older teen believed him, but he had always been a good liar.

When the bell finally rang, the excited teenager practically ran out of the classroom, heading toward the back stairwell to make his escape. It wasn't too long of a walk to the bus station, but the ride itself would be roughly over an hour.

Ponyboy had made himself a well thought out schedule; if all went according to plan, he would be back just in time for the school day to end, and nobody would even know that he had left town. Boy howdy, he could only imagine the look on Darry's face if he even had the slightest inclination of what he was up to that afternoon.

Then again, Ponyboy had been incredibly quiet about what he had been up to—involving his theme—and nobody knew about it, except for himself, Mr. Franklin, and Mr. Syme. His English teacher didn't exactly know how far he had gone with publication companies, but he didn't really want anyone to know about his plans just yet.

He was truly excited to hear what Mr. Franklin had to say—the man sounded utterly interested in the publication of the theme itself, which was more than what he'd heard from any other publisher. Still, he just hoped that he wasn't getting his hopes up for nothing. Mr. Franklin _did_ sound honest with him on the phone, as if he truly wanted to move along with the actual publishing process, which had caused Ponyboy to already get his hopes up enough.

As he exited the high school, making his way to the bus stop, he wondered what Mr. Franklin would say to him that afternoon, and he wondered what his theme would look like in book format. Glory, he couldn't wait for that day . . . if it ever happened.

* * *

Dallas kicked a rock at a passing car in the high school's parking lot, laughing as it bounced off the tire and flew at a bunch of Socs who were walking out of the school. Unfortunately, one of the boys wasn't quick enough to duck, and the rock had connected with his face, causing him to practically cry out, one hand raising to his cheek as he covered the reddening area.

Serves'em right, the blond thought with an amused smirk. He wasn't even aiming for them, or anyone in particular, but the scene was definitely comical to him. He deeply despised the Socs, even more now that he knew about George Clayton. It had been almost a week since he found out the truth from Ella and had talked with Ponyboy.

He was surprised with himself that he hadn't exactly done anything about it yet, but he knew that he himself couldn't. Well, he had planned to talk with the guys during their lunch period that day, having a planned out scheme of his own, one which involved making sure Clayton didn't bother with Ponyboy ever again, and to top it off, he was going to make sure Mr. Clayton knew who he was messing with.

"Hey, Dal," Two-Bit's voice rang out, and he turned to see the other boy headed in his direction with Steve at his side.

The three smoked and ate their lunch while talking about this and that, Dally deciding that now would be as good of time as any to bring up the Clayton issue. He told the two what had been going on, watching as Steve's face twisted up in anger while Two-Bit looked both concerned and livid. Well good, at least they got it, which he expected no less of.

"So, are we gonna pound this guy or what?" Steve asked, subconsciously cracking his knuckles.

"No, no," Dally said, gritting his teeth. "He'll be taken care off." At the boys' confused expressions, he gave them a cool look, smirking once. "Talked to Shepard. Clayton will be dealt with. He ain't gonna lay a hand on Ponyboy, ain't even gonna look at him when he's through."

"You got _Shepard_ involved in this?" Steve asked, shock in his voice. "What the hell, Dallas?"

The hood shrugged. "If I didn't have a fucking five year sentence hanging over my head, I would handle the situation myself, dipshit. Did the best I could. You boys would do best to keep yer fucking noses clean about it, 'less y'all wanna be their accomplices."

Steve shut his trap, but he was still pissed. He knew better than to get mouthy with Dallas, especially when he was in a mood like that. If Dallas Winston said that he was going to take care of something, he meant it—he wasn't the type to screw around. Still, both Steve and Two-Bit wanted in on the action; Ponyboy was one of their own, and it was _their_ job to look out for him—make like brothers. At the same time, Dallas's dilemma was understandable, and being part of the same gang would look suspicious if they were involved with anything that happened to Clayton.

Dallas was right. It was best to stay out of it.

Steve decided to change the subject. "What's going on with your tutor?"

"What about her?" Dally asked, sounding uninterested.

He hadn't seen her since last Friday. It had snowed all through the weekend, which resulted in the cancellation of school on Monday. He didn't bother to look for her Tuesday, but he would be seeing her that afternoon for their tutoring session, which he wasn't looking forward to.

The dark-haired greaser shrugged. "Don't know. Evie told me she ran into her in the bathroom earlier this morning. Guess she was awfully upset about something or another because she asked Evie to bum a cigarette and denied that anything was wrong."

Dallas furrowed his eyebrows, lips pursing together. He didn't know Ella Mitchell to be a smoker. In fact, whenever he lit up in front of her, she would always give him this disgusted look, tell him it was bad for him, or ask him to move away from her.

"Whatever," he replied. "She's a dopey broad anyway."

But he had plans to find out just exactly what was bothering his air-headed tutor, not that he cared. Nah, he didn't—it was just something else he could use to get under her skin.

* * *

Ponyboy sat in Dale Franklin's office, his fingers drumming anxiously against his knee as he bounced his leg up and down. He was more than nervous to meet the man, and not because of who he was, but because of his theme. Even though Mr. Franklin was insistent that he liked the story well enough, the teen couldn't help but question himself.

He was also slightly nervous about the fact that he had skipped out on half of the school day, hoping that Darry wouldn't ever find out about it. Glory, he would certainly be in some kind of trouble if his oldest brother ever gained knowledge of his escapade that afternoon.

"Mr. Curtis?"

The teen practically jumped up, a startled expression on his face. "Yes. Ponyboy."

The older man smiled down at him. "I must say it's a true pleasure to meet you, Ponyboy." As the two shook hands, he continued. "I'm Dale Franklin."

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Sir."

Mr. Franklin chuckled. "Dale, please."

Ponyboy was led inside of another office, one that contained a rather large desk and various shelves filled with assorted items, the most of the collection being books. The walls were a light golden hue, the chairs plush and comfortable looking. He studied the man in front of himself as he took a seat across from the desk.

Dale was a colored man, tall, and lithe. He was also very well-dressed, and his personality reflected that of somebody who had class and wealth. The teen suddenly felt a strange sensation creeping up his spine as he thought of Dale's reaction to his theme once he had completed it.

"I'm glad that you decided to meet with me, Ponyboy," Dale stated, folding his hands on his desk. "I'm very interested in helping you pursue a publication."

"Thank you, Si— Dale." He flushed a bit, but found that it was easy to relax around the older man.

Dale continued on. "The first thing would be to get you an official patent so nobody will be able to steal your work. Your work will be registered in the Library of Congress once the copyright is officially completed. The second thing that would happen is the editing process, which involves several weeks of passing your theme through various editors who will correct any grammatical errors . . .etc." He smiled at the teen, then. "And lastly would be designing your cover and preparing you for the market. How does that sound?"

"Gee," Ponyboy said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It all sounds real great."

The older man laughed. "You know, Ponyboy, I found your story easy to relate to in many aspects. You have a true talent for storytelling. It's interesting, though." He paused, leaning back in the chair. "I do remember reading about you in the paper several months ago."

"You do?"

He nodded. "Yes. When I read your story, I was shocked. I couldn't believe I was reading _your_ story until I reached the middle of it. I remembered reading in the paper about how you and Mr. Cade saved those children in Windrixville." A sigh. "Which leads me to something else about publishing your book."

Ponyboy felt his chest tighten a bit. "What's that?"

"Well, your story involves several people who would need to authorize their consent for you to use their names before we can actually move on with the publication process," he explained. "The only other way to move along would be for you to possibly . . . fictionalize everyone's names. Either way, that is entirely up to you, Ponyboy. I would still like to help you move forward with whatever choice you make."

The teen nodded slowly. "I suppose I'll need some time to think about it, if that's alright."

"Certainly!"

Ponyboy merely smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. He was going to get published either way he went. He wasn't sure that he wanted to go around asking people for permission to use their names in his story, though, but he didn't want to improvise, either. He wasn't sure what to do about the situation, but he was excited about his theme—his _book._

* * *

Ella wasn't feeling any better later that afternoon, and the thought of spending two or three hours with Dallas before work wasn't making it better for her. Sure, she and the hoodlum had gotten along the last time they were together, but Ella was certain that it wouldn't last. Dallas wasn't the type to be, or stay, nice to anyone.

She shuffled her books around in her locker, before turning to place her homework inside of her bag, and that's when she saw a familiar head of dark brown hair walking past her. Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach as she recalled her conversation with Craig, her now ex-boyfriend, that morning.

She couldn't believe that they were over, and all because she just had to open her mouth to him about George Clayton. She wondered if she had actually done it just to help Ponyboy, or because she was honestly trying to cover for Craig. At first, she thought that she _was_ helping Ponyboy out, but the way she had gone about the issue with Craig made it seem like she was out to get him and George.

No, she _was_ trying to help both Ponyboy and Craig. All she wanted was for Craig to make George leave the kid alone and for things between them to go back to the way they were. With a sigh, she reminded herself that Craig never really liked her, that he had solely used her just to help George out with his supposed revenge plan against Ponyboy Curtis.

Ella was angry, then. She ground her teeth, slamming her locker closed with a huff, and turned to leave the school. She was momentarily stunned, though, when she practically collided into Dallas, who had just walked up, a cocky expression on his face.

"Hey, sweets," he greeted sarcastically, looking her over once.

The girl glared. "Dallas."

He knew that she was in a bad mood from Steve, and he could tell from the look on her face that she was pissed about something, a mood she seemed content to be in the last few weeks. The blond could only wonder what her deal was, but he wasn't going to ask—not directly at least. No, he would tease her mercilessly until she caved and he got it out of her.

"Alright, what crawled up your skirt?" he started, following her out the doors.

She simply tossed her head back, not bothering to answer him. Well, that was just fine and dandy with him—he would make her talk one way or the other. He knew exactly how to get under her skin, too, and it was something he all too much enjoyed doing. Ella could be a firecracker when she wanted to be, although it was rare, but he was determined to get a rise out of her.

"So, why do you always say my name instead of something like a proper greeting?" he inquired once they were in the car. "You know, sweets, most people say _hey_ or _hello_ , or some shit."

"Like you even know what _proper_ is, and maybe I like being different," she bit out, jaw clenching. "I don't even like saying your name. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth."

The blond smirked. "I'll give you something that won't." He saw her knuckles beginning to whiten from how tightly balled her fists were. He grinned at his own crude innuendo, before covering it up just to get one out of her. "So, how about that _food_ , huh?"

Ella sighed, exasperated. "I'm not hungry."

The two were silent for a minute or so, before Dallas got an idea. He cracked the window and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, lighting one up. He watched for any reaction from Ella, but when he received none, he knew that Steve, well Evie, had been telling the truth. Instead, the girl's eyes shifted in his direction, and she eyed the cigarette carefully, pursing her lips.

"Wanna drag?" he offered, testing her out. When she hesitated, he smirked. "I've got one left, and you ain't gettin' it, sweets."

Unexpectedly, and to his surprise, she held her hand out. Passing it along to her, he watched her with a curious gaze, waiting to see her actually do it. She was extremely hesitant in doing so, so he decided to encourage her, see if she would really smoke.

"Oh, c'mon, _sweets,_ it ain't like you never tasted me before." He winked at her, egging her on.

The girl's lips curled back in disgust as she remembered that day a month ago when Dallas had kissed her forcibly. She hated him, loathed him for quite some time after that. She had never gotten over it, either, and the thought made her feel sick. Still, she wanted a cigarette; she wanted anything that would make her forget her guilt and Craig's deception.

Raising her hand up, she placed the cigarette carefully between her lips, before inhaling slowly, the smoke wafting through her nostrils and mouth. Immediately, she felt a tinge of being lightheaded, but shook the feeling off before the blond beside her could notice.

"Well, damn," Dallas commented, taking the cigarette back. "For all you've ever complained about them, who the hell knew you would smoke one?"

Ella ignored him. "Whatever."

The girl began twiddling her fingers in her lap. She wasn't in the mood to tutor Dallas, or do her own homework, or anything really. She just wanted to go home and bury her head in her pillow and sob her issues away, even though she knew that was pointless. Still, a good cry and some time by her lonesome was bound to do her good, wasn't it? Well, it would have to wait until after work, she figured, folding her hands together.

And that's when she remembered Craig's ring, which was still on a chain around her neck. With a look of complete disgust, she tore the chain from her neck and thrust it inside her bag, before crossing her arms and leaning back in the seat.

Her attention turned to Dallas. "Well?"

"Well what?" he questioned, tossing the butt out the window. He'd watched her remove the ring, one brow raising with intrigue. "Boyfriend break up with ya?"

Ella fumed. "What's it to you? It's none of your business, hood, so stay out of it." She was irked more than he'd ever seen her. "And, _well?_ Are we getting out of here or not?"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, starting the car. "Don't get your panties in a twist, sweets." And then he smirked. "How about something cold to cool you off?"

* * *

Ella felt a little calmer that night, having spent her evening with Jan, who was upbeat and chipper. It had raised her spirits a bit, but it wasn't enough to make her forget about Craig. Glory, why did she still have to like him? Why couldn't she just forget about him and let her mind rest for just a little while?

She couldn't believe that she had let Dallas Winston take her to The Dingo, either. She wouldn't let him buy her food, though, but eating had made her feel more at ease, and she didn't even care that the hood she so disliked had been her accompanier. They hadn't bothered with any studying that afternoon, but they had talked somewhat, which was quite a prodigious and drastic change from their regular sessions.

Ella was surprised that the two had officially made it to the third marking period without killing each other, and she was even more than astonished that she had allowed herself to vent about her ex to him without him really nagging at her. Still, he had made some rather vulgar remarks just to get a jab at her, but they weren't as crude as they normally were.

In turn, she had spoken to him very little about his ex-girlfriend, Sylvia Evans. Ella hadn't seen her around in a few weeks, and when she had visited the record store a week back, another employee told her that Sylvia no longer worked there. Dallas only informed her that Sylvia had left town, a surprised look in his eyes when she had inquired.

The chime of the door alerted the girl of somebody entering the store, and she stepped behind the front register, trying to get a better look at who had entered. Her eyes widened as a frown crossed her lips at the sight of George Clayton, a bitter expression reflected across his features.

He sauntered up to the counter, eyeing her coolly, and it was only seconds later when he was directly in front of her, the liquor on his breath wafting in her direction.

"Ella Mitchell," he said harshly, leaning forward, arms resting on the counter top.

"George," she responded in the same tone of voice, not bothering to conceal her dislike of him. "What do you want?"

The older teen was brisk. "I heard that you threatened me, Ella Mitchell, heard that you threatened my boys, and I'm going to let you in on something." He pushed himself forward, leaning his face closer to hers. "Nobody threatens me. You better watch your back. I'm not through with you."

Ella, for all her worth, fired back. "Oh, go to hell, George."

George could tell that she was terrified, though, no matter how much courage she had. "Tell your little greaser pals to look out, too." With a finger pointed at her, he continued. "Nobody threatens me." On his way out, he intentionally knocked over a display case, kicking the cans around on the floor before taking his leave.

Ella stood dumbstruck for a minute, staring at the spot where George had just been and wondering what she had gotten herself into.

 _And just in time_

 _In the right place_

 _Suddenly I will play my ace_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for all the feedback on this story! :3**


	28. It Ends Today

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Within Temptation owns "It's The Fear."**

* * *

 _It waits for the day, I will let it out_

 _To give it a reason, to give it its might_

 **January 28, 1966**

Craig had been growing mighty concerned for George, and he wasn't the only one, either. George had been absent from school for three days that week, until he had shown up Thursday morning with a few bruises along his face and a recovering black eye. His bottom lip was a bit swollen, and there was a cut just above it.

The teen hadn't uttered a word to anyone, didn't look at any of his friends, and when he was asked what happened to him, he had turned violent. He'd shoved Kevin away, before telling him to never bring it up again. Honestly, the entire school body was gossiping about what happened to George, but nobody seemed to really know. Of course, there were plenty of rumors circulating about the boy, but he didn't bother to acknowledge a single one.

Craig and Kevin had come to the conclusion that their buddy was jumped, but whoever it was must had scared him something awful, threatened him not to rat them out. Whatever the case, George had been jumped, threatened, and beaten, and Craig had a pretty good idea who the culprit, or culprits, were, and he was going to get to the bottom of the case one way or another.

"What are you thinking about?" Kevin asked, swishing around his soda. "You're a million miles away."

Craig sighed, nodding toward George, who was sitting by himself across the bleachers. "I don't get it, that's all."

"Nobody does."

Craig looked at his friend beside him. "He hasn't said anything to you? At all?"

Kevin shook his head. "Nope. I spoke to his parents, you know. They just think that he was in some kind of fight Friday night. Took him half this week to show his face because of how bad the damage to it was. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself."

"He wasn't in a fight. He was jumped," came the response.

"I know." Kevin pulled his jacket tighter around himself, trying to keep the cold out. "It's strange, I have to admit." At Craig's stare, he continued, lowering his voice. "First, he stops including you with his plans, then he decides to lay low for a while, and now he gets jumped. Something isn't adding up."

The brown-haired boy merely shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, Craig," he replied. "I don't know."

Craig already knew the answers that Kevin was looking for. He hadn't wanted to continue scheming after Ponyboy Curtis, so George practically stopped speaking to him, and because of Ella's threat, which he had relayed to him, George decided to wait until Ponyboy was off his guard to strike again, before really going after him. And finally, Ponyboy, or even Ella, must have said something about them to somebody, which was why George was jumped.

Craig had enough—he was going to find out the truth of what happened with George last Friday night.

* * *

"Hey, Ponyboy!" Two-Bit hollered, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. "Check this out!" He thrust the paper into the kid's hands, a wide grin on his face. "That right there is an A+ from the one an' only Mrs. Develin! Can you believe that?"

"Glory," Ponyboy replied, eyes scanning the graded quiz. "She actually put a smiley on it, too."

"That's 'cause she's been real delighted with me, let me tell you, kid," he said proudly. "And it's all thanks to you, Ponyboy. I'm gonna be a high school graduate for sure if I keep this up, huh."

"I'll say."

The older greaser slung an arm around his buddy. "Gee, you ever think that when I graduate next year, you'll be going into your senior year?"

Ponyboy cocked an eyebrow. "Never thought of that."

The younger boy stared off in the distance, his brows pulling together as he digested that thought. He never bothered to think of what things would be like in the future for him, his friends, and his brothers, and now that Two-Bit had mentioned it, his mind was racing with the different possibilities and outcomes of what each of their lives could be like.

Well, for one, he would be the last one in school for one whole year by his lonesome. It sure seemed quite strange to think of that scenario. Boy howdy, he really wished Johnny was there to keep him some company. At least, with Johnny having been in the same grade as him due to being held back and him skipping a year, he wouldn't have to be alone.

"Earth to Ponyboy!" Two-Bit's voice rang in his ear. When the younger teen's attention turned to him, a scowl present on his face, he continued. "I was just sayin' that your hair color is coming back. Did ya notice that?"

"It is?"

"Well, sure, kid!" He grinned. "Hardly would know that you was almost bald with hair a shade close to Dally's!"

Ponyboy rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

Turning his head a little to face the side mirror on Two-Bit's car, the kid realized that his friend was right—his hair was practically back to its original shade of light brown, the natural red highlights seeming more prominent in the sun.

Suddenly, beside him, Two-Bit began laughing, turning around to lean on the hood of his car, his face turning red from how hard he'd been doing so. Ponyboy merely stared at the older boy, wondering just what could be so funny.

Two-Bit gleamed up at him. "Lord, can you just imagine what ol' Dal would look like with black hair?" And he began chuckling again, shaking his head as he did.

* * *

Ella had spent the majority of the week on the lookout for George, but when he hadn't bothered to show up at school, she wondered what was going on. She hadn't spoken to Craig, either; he wouldn't even spare her a glance in biology, making like _he_ was the victim instead of her. Well, she wouldn't let herself be called a victim, she was too proud for that. In her mind, she had found out the truth about George and Craig, and if Craig wanted to act immature, then she didn't have any use for him.

Still, her feelings for him remained, and no matter how much she attempted to shove them aside, there was nothing she could do to make herself dislike him. Well, she was pissed at him, but she couldn't force herself to truly _hate_ him no matter how much he had done, and not just to her, but Ponyboy and Dallas as well.

The girl wondered about George. He had threatened her outright, and she hadn't bothered to mention it to anyone, and it was honestly because she was afraid of what might happen if she did. However, when George had returned to school, the rumors of him being jumped being whispered in every corner of the building, Ella was somewhat put-off. She had a suspicion that Dallas was behind it, and when she had questioned him about it Thursday afternoon before their lunch period, he merely shrugged it off.

Thing was, Ella knew that he knew something, even if he wasn't directly involved with it. She knew that he wouldn't divulge any information to her, either, and she was surprisingly okay with that. Dallas had only told her what she didn't know couldn't hurt her, and with that knowledge, Ella decided to just drop the subject and leave it alone—that was as much of an answer that she would get from Winston anyway.

With a sigh, the brown-haired teen made her way out to the parking lot to meet the hood, but when her gaze landed on his car, she realized that he wasn't around. She decided to wait for him, making her way out into the lot and leaning against the side of the T-Bird. She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the cool air. It was still quite chilly out, but it had surprisingly warmed up just a little, and Ella took immense pleasure in it, that is, until the sight of her ex-boyfriend making his way out of the school immediately soured her mood.

Their eyes met for a split second, before he gave her a look of disgust, turning the other way. She kept her eyes on him as he walked across the lot, heading in the direction of George's car. She knew that George hadn't been speaking to anyone, not even his girlfriend for that matter, and when she had spoken to Ponyboy earlier that morning, she'd learned that George couldn't even bring himself to _look_ at the kid straight without an expression of terror flooding his face.

Some part of her actually felt bad, and she wondered if whoever had jumped him had gone too far. It was these thoughts that she would keep to herself, though, reminding herself that it was George's idea and plans that had gotten her involved with Winston, had Ponyboy suspended for something he didn't even do, and made her out to be a fool.

No, she didn't feel sorry, she told herself.

"Hey, sweets," came the infamous greeting of Dallas, and when she looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes landed on Craig's again across the lot, a glare in his brown orbs before he turned away from her.

"Dallas," she responded coolly, climbing into the passenger seat beside him a moment later.

The two drove for a while, before coming to a stop at their usual place. Ella was glad _and_ relieved for that, not enjoying the atmosphere of Buck Merril's roadhouse. She and Dallas had spent a few days there in the past two weeks due to the weather—it had been too cold to sit outside in a car. However, it was nice enough that particular Friday afternoon where the two could stay out.

Ella rolled the window down almost immediately, before lighting a cigarette of her own. She had been doing so since she'd bought a pack last week at her job. In honesty, she didn't really enjoy it all that much, but it sure did ease her nerves about George and Craig—especially George. It didn't matter that he'd been jumped, or that he could barely look at Ponyboy Curtis, because the threat still lingered in her mind, and his words terrified her.

Dallas's voice interrupted her thoughts. "So, whattya tossin' at me today?"

She shrugged, watching out of her peripheral as he lit up his own cigarette. "Whatever you'd like to start with, I suppose."

"Don't care."

Ella almost cracked a small grin. She and Dallas had been getting along exceptionally well, and she was glad that they were no longer rivals. She knew that they weren't friends, not in the least, but being decent toward one another sure as heck made time go quicker. She considered how far their time together had gone—they'd never liked each other, never really took the time to get to know each other, and it had taken nearly five months for them just to stop bickering.

The whole thing was surreal.

She sighed, tossing her math book in his direction. "Here. Start with chapter ten, lesson fourteen." The notebook landed beside him.

The blond raised an eyebrow, glancing at the girl beside him, watching as she sucked on her cigarette with ease, a content look in her eyes. She'd changed quite a bit in the last several weeks, and he wasn't sure if he really liked that or not. He'd never given her much thought before, never wanted to, but Ella was different than the girls he was used to, and something about her recent behavior just didn't seem to sit right with him.

He wasn't complaining, though. In fact, he thought this side of her was amusing, to say the least. Still, he wanted to do something to piss her off, see her get all fired up just so he could irritate her. This _nice_ shit between them had gone on a little too long.

"So, how's . . . uh, the fuck's his name? Craig? How's he doin'?" he started out, flipping the math book open, eyes scanning the pages.

A sigh. "Don't really know."

"Really?" He smirked. "I thought you two lovebirds would be back together by now. I mean, you was all lovey-dovey a few weeks ago. What's the deal?" He turned, giving her a wink. "Didn't he _please_ you enough?"

And there it was, the infamous glare. "Shut your trap, Dallas."

Well, he thought almost triumphantly, he'd ruffled her feathers a bit. But he still wasn't quite finished with her yet, and he was going to rile her up a little more before he was through. It was just something he thoroughly found enjoyment in—pissing Ella off. She was a firecracker at the best of times, her face turning redder than a tomato, hair somehow becoming static-y, and her eyes narrowing into such thin slits, they looked like lines on her lightly freckled face. Glory, but it was amusing at best.

"Is that what Craig would tell you when—"

"Would you just quit it?" she shot back, irritation evident in her voice. "Just do your work."

"If work is—"

"Dallas!" she cried, grounding her teeth together as she turned in his direction. However, whatever she was about to say was lost from her thoughts when she saw his trademark smirk, the side of his lips curling up just a little as his grim gaze remained planted on hers. She felt her cheeks heating up as a sudden thought crossed her mind, causing her chest to tighten. "Just . . . be quiet."

The girl faced the window, her reflection looking back at her through the glass as she wondered what in the world had just happened.

* * *

"I don't get it, George," Craig muttered, turning his attention to his friend. "Why can't you just tell me what happened to you?"

George scowled. "Look, just let it go already. I told you, nothing happened and that's final." He ran a hand over his busted lip. "If you're just going to be a pain in the ass, Craig, beat it."

The brown-haired teen was having none of it. "You know what gets me, George? I'll tell you. The fact that you were set in whatever you had planned for that Curtis kid, and suddenly, when I break it off with Ella, you disappear for a few days and show up back at this place recovering from some kind of whooping that has left you speechless. Well, if I didn't know any—"

"Just shut your fucking mouth!" George hollered, and slammed Craig against the side of the bleachers roughly. He pointed a finger in his face. "You don't know a thing, Craig. Just stay the hell away from me, you got that?"

Craig, though, was relentless, shoving the taller boy backward. "No, I don't. I want you to tell me what the hell happened to you." He snarled. "Was it Winston? Curtis's greaser pals? Who?"

George jammed his hands in his pockets. He was getting awfully pissed with Craig breathing down his neck ever since he'd come back to school. He'd heard the whispers, he'd seen the way everyone was looking at him, and he knew he was the number one topic of discussion at the moment. Why couldn't Craig and Kevin just accept that he was in a fight?

He didn't need to inform them, or anyone, that he'd been jumped by some gang in the middle of the night after he'd left a friend's party. They'd come out of nowhere, cornered him, threatened him about staying away from their buddy, beaten the ever living shit out of him, and left him there. He could barely make it back to his car, could barely see out of one eye to drive. His parents weren't anywhere around when he'd gotten home, having left for a business trip the day prior.

When they had come home and saw him, he simply told them that he was in a fight, and when Kevin had come around looking for him, he had given him the same story. Thing was, Craig knew a lot more about what was going on than Kevin did, and because of that, George didn't want to involve him in any way, shape or form.

Why couldn't Craig just accept that and move the hell on?

Hell, why had he even agreed to staying after school just to chat with him? George wasn't sure, but some part of him wanted to spill the truth, tell somebody what had happened, but he knew he couldn't, especially with those guys out there. Even with all his friends, he was outnumbered. He just wanted everything to stop and everyone to quit questioning him.

He had agreed to leaving the Curtis kid alone, and he would. He even decided that he wouldn't bother with Ella Mitchell any longer—whatever happened there would have nothing to do with him.

George was done.

He looked over at Craig. "No."

Craig sighed. "Can't you—"

"No, I can't," George interrupted. "And if you know what's best for you, you'll stay away from me and everyone else."

"You mean Ponyboy Curtis and Ella Mitchell?"

He nodded slowly. "Just stay away, like you have been."

The other teen shook his head. "I'm surprised at you, George. After everything you put Kevin and I through, you're the one backing out now. I mean, I'm done with everything, have been for a while, but you? You're the most popular guy in the school, you have everything—"

George eyed him coolly. "And let's keep it that way, huh?"

Craig merely watched his friend walk away. Not only had he been found out, but his friend had been brutally beaten and no longer wanted anything to do with him. Craig had an idea of what happened, and was going straight to the source, the one who he knew had the answers.

Sneering, he headed back to the lot and made his way to his car. He had some things to take care of before he paid his ex-girlfriend a visit that night.

* * *

With a scowl, Dallas wiped the counter off where some drunken cowboy had spilled his beer. He was in no mood to deal with Buck, who had been doing nothing but ordering him around like a man-servant since he started his shift that evening. Glory, he thought with contempt, he'd rather be spending his evening with the likes of Ella Mitchell than doing this shit.

It wasn't that it was hard work at all, but the blond simply despised being told what to do, and with an employer like Buck Merril, and the various older drunks who made up the Friday night crowd, he was being bossed around like a fucking slave, and he was awfully sick of it. In fact, he was to the point where he would belt the next person who even looked at him wrong.

"Hello," greeted a light voice, causing the hood to look up from where he was placing a glass on the rack below the counter.

"What can I get ya?" he asked in a gruff voice, eyeing the clock behind her head. When he glanced at her again, he realized that he'd seen her before from somewhere, although he couldn't place her.

She smiled, cheeks puffing out. "Aren't you a little young to be working here?"

Dallas raised an eyebrow, leaning froward. "Ain't you a little young to be at a bar?" He looked her up and down slowly on purpose, deliberately making sure she noticed. "What's age matter anyway, baby? You don't look the type to care."

"Scotch," she whispered, leaning forward a few inches from him. She watched him get her drink, her eyes following his every movement. She remembered him from their last meeting; he'd seemed irked about something, unfriendly, and cruel, but something about him pulled her in. She hadn't seen him since that night, never had the chance to thank him for helping her out, either. "You don't remember me, do you?"

He slid her drink to her. "Can't say I do."

So they had met at one point, he noted, realizing that he'd been right earlier. Still, Dallas had met and been with tons of broads before, and he didn't always remember them, which would usually piss them off, not that he cared. Most of the time, they were the ones coming to him, and if he was in the mood to entertain them, then he would, and if not, he'd tell them to get lost. He was notorious for bedding girls and kicking them out, save for a select few, but even they didn't really mean anything to him.

"My name is Cherie," she replied, sipping her drink casually.

The towheaded teen shrugged. "I know a few gals with that name. Which one are you?"

Cherie grinned at his response, adjusting herself on the stool. "We met back in December on the porch when I left my bag inside. You let me in to retrieve it."

He stared at her for a second, searching his mind for that particular memory. It took him a moment, but he remembered her suddenly. Yeah, he remembered her alright—he had thought she was pretty fucking stupid, that was for certain. She didn't quite look the same as he recalled her, but he wasn't about to complain—she wasn't bad looking, especially in the dim lighting.

In fact, she was awfully good looking, not like he'd thought of Sylvia at one point, but decent enough that he would have no problem inviting her up to his room for the night. And now that her makeup and shit wasn't smeared, face clean of tears, she looked closer to his age than she originally had.

"Yeah, sure," he said, eyeing the clock again before hopping over the bar and landing beside her. "See you around, Cherie."

"Wait," she called out, grabbing his arm as he made to walk away. "You didn't tell me your name."

He intentionally hesitated, looking her over again. "Dallas."

"Well, Dallas, I certainly look forward to seeing you around."

And with that, the blond headed into the back room with a shake of his head, forgetting all about Cherie whatever-her-name-was. He had a game of poker that was waiting for him, along with an attempt to get Miss Linda Holland in the sack later that night. It been a little too long, for his liking, since he had the company of a decent looking broad in his bed.

* * *

Ella finished cleaning up the store later that night, sweeping the floor, emptying the trash, and making sure the back doors were shut and locked. At ten o'clock on the dot, she locked up, giving the door a little tug before heading home. Unfortunately, her mother was working the bar that night, so she would have to walk home, not that she minded too much.

It wasn't overly chilly that night, but it was cool. She placed her hands inside her pockets, pulling her Winter jacket tighter around herself. The walk to her house wasn't that far, and she had walked home after work plenty of times, so it wasn't a big deal. Her thoughts drifted elsewhere as she continued her walk, unaware of the car trailing behind her.

The girl continued on for another few minutes, before the sound of a car door slamming pulled her from her thoughts, her feet automatically moving faster in the darkness. She remembered her mother always warning her about walking home late, although she had brushed her off.

Nothing could really happen, could it? She wasn't _that_ far from her house. Then again, Ella's attempt at comforting herself wasn't working all that well, and she picked up her pace, only coming to a stop when she heard her name being called by a familiar voice.

Ella jerked around to see Craig a few feet behind her. "Craig?"

She didn't have a second to think of why he was there, or what he could possibly want, because she suddenly found herself pressed up against the brick exterior of a building, Craig's face in hers as the potent scent of alcohol wafted through her nostrils.

"What did you do?" he growled out harshly, his fingers digging into her shoulders, legs trapping her so that she couldn't move.

Ella's eyes broadened in terror. Is this what George meant when he had threatened her? Had he actually sent Craig after her? No, that couldn't be it, she told herself, but with Craig's hardening glare, and the anger coming out in his voice, she didn't really know what to think.

"What do you—"

"Cut the shit, Ella," he interrupted, shoving her back again, only harder. "You know what happened to George, and you're going to tell me."

She paled. "Craig, I don't know!" The girl attempted to move from his grasp, but he only held onto her tighter, his grip becoming rougher. "Craig, stop, _please_. You're hurting me!"

And that's when Craig officially snapped. Suddenly, it wasn't Ella standing in front of him—it was his problems splayed out before him, it was George. He didn't hear her cries as he repeatedly hit the girl, telling himself over and over that this was George's fault, and that he hated him for it. Perhaps he might have really liked Ella Mitchell, just not in a forced manner, like George was trying to do, and because of him, Ella knew too much, had threatened them, and had George jumped because of it.

No, it wasn't _just_ George's fault. It was Ella's fault, too, and he wished he had never listened to George and spoken to her that day in the library back in November.

 _Long ago, it came to me and ever since that day_

 _Infected with its rage_

 _But it ends today_

* * *

 **Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story! It's so very much appreciated! :3**


	29. Anchors to My Bones

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. of Verona owns "Raining."**

* * *

 _Don't want to feel this_

 _Don't want to feel this right now_

 _Feel like I could give up trying_

 **January 31 – February 2, 1966**

Ella had spent two days in the hospital after her mother found her a block down from the store Friday night. She refused to tell anyone what had happened to her, merely repeating that somebody had jumped her, though it had been too dark to see who it was. She told the doctors that she was attacked while she was on her way home from work, that somebody, a male teen, had tackled her, and she didn't recall anything else.

She was released from the hospital early Monday morning, her mother driving her back to their house where she practically locked herself up in her room. She knew that reporting Craig wouldn't do any good, especially with George Clayton being his friend. Nobody would really believe her, either, and she didn't want to deal with any of that nonsense, so she decided to keep her mouth shut.

The girl could barely remember the incident; all she kept seeing was Craig's fist aimed at her face before she was met with darkness, having woken up in a hospital room with her mother's face staring down at her with an almost relieved expression. She looked worse than she honestly was, though, but that didn't stop every inch of her from hurting. Her nose had been broken, her lips were split, and her face was all bruised up, cheeks swollen from where the impact of Craig's punches met her flesh.

Curling up into a ball, Ella let herself cry. She blamed herself mostly for ever opening her mouth to Craig about the information she had obtained from Cherry Valance and Ponyboy Curtis. Maybe if she just hadn't said anything at all, George wouldn't have been jumped and nothing would have happened with her and Craig. Still, the reminder of Ponyboy being harassed by George bothered her, and in the end, she didn't regret confronting Craig.

Still, she knew it was best to keep her mouth shut. If she didn't say anything, maybe Craig and George would stay away from her. Besides, the thought of nothing actually happening to Craig if she did turn him in lingered in her mind. Even if both Craig and George were locked up, both the Bryant's and the Clayton's would simply bail their sons out, and nothing would happen. They were prominent people in the area, and there was no way Ella could go after them—it was no use.

There was nothing she could do.

* * *

Dallas figured that he would have a free afternoon, well, free from tutoring anyway. He'd learned that Ella hadn't shown up for school, which he was just fine with, considering the fact that he never particularly enjoyed their study sessions three days a week after school. Either way, he decided that he would find Shepard and see what the hell he was up to.

He glanced at the youngest member of their group, who was lounging on the hood of Steve's car beside him, contently munching on a candy bar as he read some book. Ponyboy had seemed very anxious about something for the last few days, excited rather, and he wondered what was going on. He hadn't exactly spent his time at the Curtis's, except for when he decided to sneak over and wash his laundry.

"What's got you grinning like a fool?" the blond asked, raising an eyebrow at the kid.

Ponyboy looked at him from over his book. "Nothing, why?"

"Bullshit," Dally disagreed, rubbing the stubble around his chin. "You look as though someone handed ya a million bucks."

"Now you sound like Two-Bit."

The older teen shook his head, lightly whacking the younger boy on the head. He was starting to get too mouthy for his own good. Dallas actually thought it was quite amusing, especially when the kid got enough nerve to come back at him and Steve. The darker haired greaser had let up a bit on nagging the kid in the past few months, which had eased a lot of the tension between them. Still, Steve and Pony didn't exactly dig each other, and Dallas figured they never really would.

On the other hand, Ponyboy had been formulating his own plans regarding his book. He was going to ask Mr. Franklin if he would actually need everyone's hand-written consent to use their names in the official book, and if not, he was going to say that it was alright with them. He knew that it was wrong to lie like that, especially to Dale Franklin, who had been more than generous and kind to him.

Still, he would get the first official copy of his book once it was finished, and then he would show it to everyone who was mentioned and involved in it and see if they cared that their names were used. He just hoped that his plan would work out.

As he looked back at Dallas, he wondered how he would react once he read the ending, and a sudden feeling of despair crept up his spine.

* * *

Yawning, Steve grabbed his books from his locker Tuesday morning wishing that he and Evie hadn't stayed out so late the night before. It's not that he didn't enjoy being out with his girlfriend, but there were times when she just wanted to do too many things in one night. Honestly, her spontaneous personality was one of the things that Steve loved about her, because she was always upbeat and ready to do almost anything, but still, with school and work, he was a bit bummed out.

What he didn't expect was to see her approaching him so upset looking that morning. Usually, Evie was always cheerful, a bright smile on her face, but when he saw her serious countenance, he knew that something was up.

"What's wrong, baby?" he inquired, closing his locker door and turning to face her.

Evie bit her lip. "I know she ain't exactly a friend of mine or nothin', but have you heard about Ella?"

"Ella who?"

"Mitchell," she answered. "You know, Dally's tutor, the girl I gave a cigarette to a week or so ago in the bathroom?"

Steve nodded, unsure of where she was headed with this. "What happened?"

"She was jumped last Friday night," Evie revealed. "Mamma said Aunt Margaret was her evening nurse the nights she stayed at the hospital, and she asked me if I knew her this morning when she got in." She bit her lip. "She don't think it's safe for girls to be walkin' the streets at night, not with what happened to Ella."

The dark-haired teen felt himself pale as he thought about the situation. Evie's aunt was a real busy woman, often pulling double shifts and working many hours at the hospital. She and Evie's mother had a rather strained relationship because of it, but despite that, they maintained a mutual respect for one another.

"You serious?"

"Of course I am, Steve!" she all but hissed. "Aunt Margaret said she was real bad when she came in through the ER. Apparently, her own mother found her down the block from Pickett, you know, past the old market?"

He nodded. "Damn."

Steve didn't know what to say. Who the hell would want to attack a girl like Ella Mitchell? As far as he knew, she was a nobody, her name barely known in their grade. He wondered, for a second, if Dally had heard about it or not, and decided that he would bring it up during lunch. Still, as he looked back at Evie, a sickening sensation flooded his stomach as he realized whatever happened to Ella could have happened to her.

* * *

George knew that Craig had attacked Ella. By Tuesday afternoon, half of the school had been talking about Ella Mitchell being jumped, and at first, George had thought it was some kind of joke. However, when it occurred to him that the girl hadn't been to school in two days, much like himself just the week before, he knew it wasn't a lie.

The buzzing gossip had shed the light from his attack last week once news of Ella began spreading around the school like wildfire. All of the girls were in a panic, swearing that some maniac was on the loose, blah, blah, blah. It was all noise to his ears in the end, and the only thing that was worrying him was the fact that they— _they_ meaning the gang who had jumped him—would think he was the one who had attacked Ella.

When he approached Craig that afternoon before lunch, he'd practically punched him, shoving him into the lockers by the gym doors.

"What the hell, George?" Craig growled, pushing the other teen off of him.

"You jumped her, didn't you?" he accused, lowering his voice to a hiss. "What the hell were you thinking, Craig? Are you—"

Craig cut him off. "I don't know. I was drunk." He brought a hand up to his face. He had been beating himself up since he'd left his ex-girlfriend beaten in the streets unconscious. "I didn't— Hell, I didn't mean to hurt her, George."

George was livid. "It's my fucking rep, you moron! If you get caught because she tells the truth, what the hell do you think will happen to you? To _me?_ Did you think about that, Craig?" He retreated, running a hand through his hair. "What were you thinking? Did you ever consider the fact that the guys who got me would come looking for me again because of this?"

Craig stared at him wide-eyed. "I told you I didn't— I was drunk!"

"Yeah? Well I've got news you for you, Craig," he replied, his voice firm. "If those guys come after me again, I'm bringing you down with me. You can count on that."

The brown-haired boy didn't say anything as the other teen left him standing there alone.

* * *

Ponyboy met up with Dallas during their lunch period, an anxious expression on his face. He wanted to know if the older teen had heard about his tutor, but the blond seemed quite oblivious to any of the ongoing gossip that was swarming Will Rogers High School that day. Pony himself had heard the news through Richie Maulfred earlier that day, and after that, the rumors seemed to be everywhere.

"What's the matter with you, kid?" Dallas asked, jamming his fists in his pockets after tossing his books to the younger teen. "Put those in your locker, will ya?"

Ponyboy rolled his eyes, wondering why Dallas was too lazy to walk to his _own_ locker to switch out his books. Why did he have to use his, Steve's, and whoever else he decided to share with? Glory, they were assigned personal lockers for a reason, not that Ponyboy truly minded. It was just that Dally had a way of thinking he could just use whoever's locker whenever it suited him, and Ponyboy was getting mighty annoyed with the hood.

Speaking of which . . .

"You hear about Ella?"

Dallas looked uninterested. "What about her?"

"She was jumped last Friday by Pickett," he answered as they walked out of the school. "Her mom was the one to find her and bring her to the hospital. She was in pretty bad shape."

The hood came to a stop, a scowl becoming present on his face. "Do they know who did it?"

"I don't know."

Dallas stared ahead, ashy brows pulling together as his mind raced with various thoughts. There was only one person who would come to the forefront, but he wasn't sure why George Clayton would go after Ella Mitchell of all people, unless he found out that she—

His head snapped in the direction of the younger greaser beside him. "Clayton ain't been botherin' you, has he?" His blue eyes hardened. "You better not fucking lie to me, or so help me—"

"No, he hasn't," came the rapid answer. "Gee, Dally, what are you thinking?"

The blond pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "I'm thinkin' that Clayton found out that Ella was the one who opened her fucking mouth about you."

The red-headed teen raised an eyebrow, considering his friend's words. He knew then that Dallas and Ella had been sharing information about George and him. The thought got under his skin a little as he realized that Dallas and Ella must have come up with the brilliant idea to interrogate him, which was why Ella had been so desperate in seeking answers from him about not only Craig, but George, too.

"You think George attacked her?"

"I don't know."

Ponyboy wracked his brain for anything that would come to mind and piece the puzzle together, and then, as if someone flicked on a switch, he knew that Dallas was wrong in his assumptions. Something told him that it wasn't George who had jumped Ella—it couldn't have been, could it? Besides, how would George find out that Ella—

" _I'm real glad that we had this talk, Ponyboy. Don't worry about George or anything. I'll deal with Craig tonight."_

The memory of his conversation with the older girl suddenly jarred him out of his thoughts, his stomach seeming to knot up. The pieces began coming together one by one, and suddenly, as his gaze shifted up toward Dallas, he knew what had happened, or at least, had an idea. If Ella had went after Craig, Craig must have went back to George, which was why Craig and Ella were no longer together.

Still, George had been jumped over a week ago, and Ponyboy had a feeling that it had something to do with him, and there was only one person he could think of that had the answer to that.

Dallas Winston.

He couldn't tell the hood about Craig Bryant's involvement with George; he'd promised Ella that he wouldn't mention the older boy's name, and he didn't mean to go back on his word. The only thing he could do was hope that Ella was alright, but something told him that part of this mess was his fault, and he suddenly felt guilty for not coming out with the truth sooner.

* * *

Dallas was a force of nature that nobody wanted to mess with, especially when he was hacked off about something. By Wednesday afternoon, he had heard multiple stories about what had happened to Ella fucking Mitchell, and he was getting mighty annoyed with the ongoing gossip. The girls were the worst end of it, mostly because they were conjuring up false stories about some creep roaming the streets at night, or some bullshit or another.

The blond had heard the correct story from Steve the day before during lunch, who had been informed by his girl, Evie. Her aunt had been Ella's nurse or something, so whatever story Evie gave to them had been told to her from her own mother, who would surely know best.

Still, Dallas had plans of his own, and he was going through with them that night. He imagined the look on Ella's face when he showed up at her house later that afternoon, but he wasn't stopping by for any sort of pleasantries—no, he was going to find out what really happened to her, even if he had to dig the story from her and pull it up like a fucking landmine.

"Hey, Dal," Two-Bit called, jogging to catch up to the younger teen. "Where ya headed?"

The blond shrugged. "I ain't sittin' with y'all today."

"How come?" the rusty-haired greaser inquired, cocking an eyebrow. "You got a pretty dame waiting for ya or something?"

"Yeah, sure, Mathews," he replied, grounding his teeth. "Whatever you say."

Two-Bit shot his buddy a look, the tone of his voice clearly hinting that something wasn't right. Still, the older teen knew better than to question Dally Winston, especially when he knew that the hood was in a dangerous mood—it was best not to get cocky with him. Two-Bit, like the rest of the gang, knew from painful experiences how nasty Dallas could turn. He was dangerous like that.

He nodded instead. "Well, I'll tell Steve and Ponyboy that you've got other plans."

"You do that."

Once Two-Bit was gone from sight, Dallas turned on his heel and headed back into the school. Yeah, he had other plans to attend to, and the first one on his list started with tracking down a certain red-headed Soc by the name of Cherry Valance.

He remembered her message from all those months ago, one which had come through Ella Mitchell, and if she knew about something with Ponyboy, and Steve and Two-Bit had sent a threatening message to Clayton through her, Dallas wanted to know exactly what she'd said to the guy, and Ella as well—she had to know something.

He was going to get to the bottom of this mess.

* * *

Cherry quickly ran a brush through her hair, before squirting on a bit of perfume. She despised gym sometimes, but she enjoyed the workout. It was ironic in a sense, how she didn't mind running the track or cheerleading, but she hated the aftermath of it all, which involved showering with a bunch of other girls, and then the steamed up locker rooms that were clouded with powder and smelled like too many different brands of perfumes—it was congesting.

Stepping out into the hall, the girl breathed in the fresher air as she joined the other students, glad that the class was over with. Usually, she was one of the first ones out of the gym, but on that particular day, Mrs. Reynolds, the girls' gym coach, had asked her to stay behind to go over the Spring Cheerleading charts and routines. Cherry liked Mrs. Reynolds, really she did, but sometimes, the older woman would get so flustered and forget what they'd gone over the day before.

Cherry sighed, coming to a stop at her locker and spinning her combination. What she didn't expect was the sight of familiar blond hair to appear in the little mirror that hung on the inside of her locker door. She nearly jumped, a startled expression becoming evident on her porcelain face, as she turned around to face her intruder.

"What do you want, Dallas?" she asked, eyes skimming the halls anxiously. It's not that she truly hated Dallas Winston—she still admired him somewhat—but she didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea, either; she wouldn't risk her reputation.

The hood looked her up and down. "I gotta talk to ya." He noticed her averting gaze. "Oh, don't worry about your little Social friends seein' us together, baby. I was real careful." He winked, a sarcastic look plastering his face.

Cherry rolled her eyes. "Please don't do this, Dallas. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, for one"—He moved to lean on the locker beside her—"Ponyboy Curtis."

The girl's face contorted to confusion. "Ponyboy?"

"That's what I said, ain't it?"

Cherry couldn't understand why Dallas Winston, of all people, would come looking for her in the middle of the school day just to talk about Ponyboy Curtis, unless something was wrong, which had been her first initial thought. However, the look on Dallas's face told her that he wasn't particularly worried about anything, so Ponyboy couldn't have been in any sort of trouble. So what could it be?

"Alright," she said after a moment of silence. "I'm listening." She crossed her arms, daring another look around them. "Just make it quick. I have—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he interrupted, shoving his fists in his pockets, not in the mood to deal with her uptight, preppy behavior. "You knew George Clayton was bothering Ponyboy back in, what the hell was it? November or some shit." He gave her a cool look. "Why did you send Ella Mitchell to give me the message instead of telling me directly?"

The girl bit her lip. "I knew she was your tutor."

"That's your answer?" he asked, sounding surprised. "Didn't think you were the type to hide. You didn't seem to have a problem driving your little Stingray over to my side of town back in September and confronting a bunch of hoods by your lonesome."

"Oh, please," she bit out, rolling her eyes. "That was something different." She was growing annoyed with him. "Could you just get to the point of this?"

"What do you know about George Clayton, and what would he have to do with Ella Mitchell?"

Her eyes widened for a second, only a second, and she furrowed her brows. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you don't," he hissed, clenching his jaw. "You knew the guy was fucking around with Ponyboy, and you sent Ella fucking Mitchell to tell me about keeping an eye on him, so I wanna know exactly what else you know and I want you to tell me now."

He stepped closer to her, nearly pressing her against her own locker. The fear in her green eyes was ever present, and he knew that he had her; she _did_ know more, but whatever it was, he didn't get the chance to find out, because Randy Adderson rounded the corner a second later, and Cherry took off, leaving him standing in an empty hall.

Well, so much for that.

* * *

Ella lounged around her house later that afternoon, eyes focused on the tube, which was airing an episode of _I Love Lucy._ She had a fondness for the show, but she couldn't really bring herself to enjoy it right then. Her mind was elsewhere, head swarming with the thoughts of returning to school. She knew she would have to go back eventually, but she didn't want to see or face Craig.

Running a hand through her hair, Ella reached for her mug of tea, her face scrunching up a bit as the liquid entered her mouth, having turned cold from sitting out too long. With a sigh, she made her way to the kitchen, emptying the cup in the sink and placing it on the counter. She caught her reflection in the window, jaw clenching as she studied her appearance. She didn't look as bad as she had, but the bruises and marks were still visible, causing her expression to fall.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she wondered who could possibly be there. She figured that it might be Jan stopping in to see how she was doing, as the older woman had done so twice already, but her heart seemed to sink when she saw a tall figure with stark blond hair standing out on the porch, his back facing the living room window as he faced the street.

For a moment, Ella debated on pretending like she wasn't there, but she knew Dallas wasn't stupid; he knew she was home, and a sudden thought caused her to feel even worse—everybody must have heard about her attack last Friday night. Still, she knew that Dallas Winston wasn't one for sentiments, so why would he stop by? Surely it couldn't be check on her, could it? No way.

With a sigh, she opened the door, cracking the screen as she poked her head out. "Dallas. What are you doing here?"

Despite the question, her voice hadn't come out with disdain. Instead, the girl sounded completely worn out, her expression reflecting just how lethargic she felt. Dallas turned at the sound of the door opening, his eyes roaming over the brown-haired girl before him. He'd seen worse than her condition, but he was certain that he'd never seen her look _that_ bad before, not even on one of her crabby days. It wasn't even the marks that littered her skin, or the discoloration from said marks and bruises, that made her look so horrible, it was the look in her eyes that had stunned the hood.

Dallas knew that Ella could be fiery, but her countenance right then told him she was anything but, and a sudden sensation of pure irritation flooded his veins.

"Aren't you gonna invite me in?" he asked, giving her a smirk, knowing that the question would aggravate her.

Ella, however, didn't even look slightly irritated. It took her a moment to react, but when she did, she merely pushed the screen open further and beckoned him in. Truthfully, she really didn't want to do so, but she didn't have the energy to argue with him, so, with hope that he would leave sooner, she simply let him inside the house.

Dallas didn't bother to really look around. He didn't have plans to stay long enough to get comfortable, and besides, he didn't consider Ella a friend of his. No, this was just a short visit, one where he hoped to find out what had happened to her, or rather, get the truth from her about George Clayton so he could take care of the issue with Ponyboy. If the kid hadn't been involved in any way, he wouldn't have bothered to show up at Ella's house in the first place; she wasn't his problem.

Ella followed Dallas in, leaning on the wall beside the kitchen entry. "You didn't answer my question."

He shrugged. "Heard the rumors about you."

"That's all?"

"You gonna tell me what happened?"

The girl felt her breath hitch in her throat. Dallas actually _expected_ her to tell him what happened to her Friday night? She couldn't wrap her head around that, mostly because she knew that he didn't like her, but then she remembered Ponyboy, and she automatically assumed that Dallas had only shown up because of George Clayton. Well, that had to be the issue, she told herself, because Ponyboy was the one Dallas was looking out for. Even Cherry's message a few months ago was enough confirmation that Ponyboy was the victim in this situation.

Ella understood that fully, but something in her lower gut twisted at the thought, and not because of Ponyboy Curtis or the current situation, either.

"It wasn't George Clayton," she stated, pursing her lips.

Dallas didn't look convinced. "Oh, no?" He crossed his arms, eyeing her intently. "You see, sweets, I have a hard time believing that—"

"Well, that's your problem," she bit out, cutting him off. There was an edge in her voice. "But I'm telling you that it wasn't him, and if that's all you're here for, you're wasting your time." She huffed, then, eyes glaring. "Besides, I don't even remember anything from that night. It was dark, the guy came out of nowhere, and that's it. I only remember waking up in the hospital."

The blond was growing agitated. "So you expect me to believe that some random fucking person decided to jump you for no reason at all, somebody who is hardly known and even less important?" He was in her face by then. "Well, I've got news for you, sweets. I think you're a fucking liar."

Ella was fighting to hold her tears back, Dallas's words stinging and bitter. "Get out."

The blond wrinkled his nose at her, teeth grinding together. "My pleasure."

Before she could utter another word, he was already out of the house, slamming the door behind himself and trudging down the steps. His mind was racing with various thoughts, the most prominent one being Ella lying right to his face. Glory, but he could slug her real good, he thought angrily. She was protecting George Clayton, much like Ponyboy had done, and he couldn't fathom any of it.

Perhaps it was time for him to pay a visit to Clayton—he had let this go on for far too long, and he was done concerning himself with a prison sentence.

Fuck it all.

Ella had listened to the tires of the T-Bird squealing down the road, and with tears streaming down her face, she let herself slide to the floor, pulling her knees up against her chest, wishing more than anything that none of this had ever happened.

 _Then it falls on down_

 _Anchors to my bones_

 _Pins me to the ground_

 _I feel like dying_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for the feedback on this story! Y'all keep me going! :3**


	30. Open Up My Scars

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Dorothy owns "Gun In My Hand."**

* * *

 _Why did love put a gun in my hand?_

 _In my bed, in my head, in my heart_

 **February 5, 1966**

" _Yeah, they're calling you a hero now and heroizin' all the greasers. We're all proud of you, buddy."_

" _Ponyboy."_

" _Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold . . ."_

" _Damnit, Johnny . . . Oh, damnit, Johnny, don't die, please don't die . . ."_

The sound of a gun being fired shook the towheaded teen awake, his eyes squinting open as he looked around the room wearily. One hand raised to wipe the sweat from his forehead, before he practically jumped from someone pounding on his door.

"Winston! Jesus Christ, get up!" Buck's voice thundered from the other side. "You've got company."

Dallas scowled, falling back on the mattress and pulling his pillow over his head. Fuckin' Buck was such an inconsiderate bastard at the best of times. Never did know how to keep his trap shut, and good Lord, what fucking time was it? The teen rolled over, cracking an eye open to see the clock—well, it was almost noon, surprise, surprise.

"Dallas!" Buck called again, kicking the door. "Get out here!"

The blond groaned, burying his face back in the pillow. "I don't wanna fucking see anyone. Tell'em to go pound salt."

"It's the correctional officer."

At that information, he pulled the pillow away from his face, studying the ceiling. Well, that was just fucking terrific news. Here he was on a Saturday morning with a hangover and Officer Harvey, most likely, waiting to drag him down to the county jail for his visit with Officer Henderson.

It was a cycle that Dallas had grown accustomed to since he'd moved to Tulsa. Every four months, he would visit Jack Henderson, his parole officer, at the county jail so the man could question him about his behavior, talk to him about this and that, and then send him on his way.

In the past, ol' Henderson would be seeing more of him due to his near weekly tradition of being jailed, or for just being a menace to society, which would lead to one of their visits together. Jack would just sigh, shake his head, and the entire process would start all over. This had to be the longest Dallas hadn't seen the man—the last time had been in early October, right before he started his senior year.

Well, he thought with utter contempt, this wasn't how he planned on starting his day, not at all. How in the hell had he forgotten about his appointment with Henderson?

And then, with a wry smirk, he remembered the night before. Yeah, that was certainly going to be his excuse. Too many beers, some good-looking broads, and then one hell of a fuck with Rita Gallow. It was too bad that he'd kicked her out afterward, though. She'd just gotten too clingy for him, and that was something he wasn't going to put up with, no way.

Dallas hated the appointments with Henderson. Whenever he forgot, Officer Dan Harvey would show up and surprise his ass, much like he had done this particular morning, the son-of-a-bitch. Well, if anything, his excuse for Jack was going to be a good one either way, that he was sure of.

Buck got the hint that Dallas would be down shortly when the sound of the teen's boot made contact with the door.

* * *

Ponyboy tapped his pencil against the kitchen table, face relaxed as he stared off into space, wondering about his semester theme. He was still debating on the entire situation regarding the usage of names, and he wondered if he ought to change them instead of lying. It seemed like such a terrible thing to do, and besides, what would happen if Mr. Franklin found out that he had outright lied and something happened, and then—

The young teen stopped himself right there, pulling his mind back to reality. Glory, but he needed to do something else, like get out of the house for a while. He was too cooped up with nothing to do. Darry and Soda were both at work, and the house was vacant, save for him. His eyes wandered around the kitchen for a few seconds, noticing the pile of dishes in the sink—he knew the rules, whoever was up first made breakfast, and the other two cleaned up. Well, unfortunately, Soda wasn't there, so the duty was left to him.

Just as he got up from his seat, the door opened, followed by the screen slamming, Two-Bit's voice echoing throughout the house, his boots thudding hardly against the floor as he made his way into the kitchen, a grin on his face as he held a beer in hand.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, before taking the last swig from his bottle and tossing it in the trash.

"Work."

Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. "Gee, this place don't have any more happiness than a cemetery."

Ponyboy frowned. "Thanks a lot." Moving past his friend, the younger boy realized that he hadn't closed the front door all the way, and with a sigh, he made his way out to the living room to close it, making sure to give it a little slam. "You gotta start remembering to close the door, Two-Bit. Darry and Soda ain't payin' to heat up the neighborhood, you know."

The older greaser merely grinned. "Ya wanna do somethin', kid? You can't tell me you aren't bored as hell in here by your lonesome. Want to catch a movie or something?"

Seeing a movie sounded like a great idea, and he knew that it would be the perfect distraction to get his mind off of his theme, or book, rather. The thought was still shocking to him, but he didn't want to think about any of it. Still, even though Two-Bit's offer sounded perfect, there was still quite a bit of cleaning that needed to be done, too.

He glanced back at the older boy. "You wanna help me clean up some first?"

Two-Bit seemed thoughtful, but only for a second or so. "How about you clean and I'll watch? You know, I'll provide the entertainment while you do the work, huh?"

Ponyboy rolled his eyes, wondering why he had even bothered to ask.

* * *

Dallas took a seat in one of the chairs across from Henderson, the older man studying his file with an expression that reflected lethargy. He knew the score all too well when it came to the blond-haired delinquent in front of him, but this time was different. Dallas hadn't been in any trouble since the case back in September, and he was mighty surprised that he had kept up his good behavior for four months solid.

He glanced up. "Sleeping until afternoon, huh? Hard night, Dallas? Spend a lot of time bending your elbow?" He looked at the teen's sullen face in a knowing manner, although he couldn't smell any alcohol on his breath.

The blond offered him a cocky expression. "Spent my time in the sack with a pretty gal. How 'bout you, Jack? Your eyes are lookin' a little glazed. How's the supply of dough—"

"Enough, Winston," Henderson barked out, and switched the topic. "How's school been?" he decided to ask, closing the file and looking back up at the teen. "Have you gotten a job, or haven't you been thinking about your future at all?"

Dallas shrugged. "I prefer my old schedule. I ain't exactly been diggin' this whole schoolboy act, know what I'm sayin', Jack?"

He decided to leave out the part about his temporary job at Buck's. The lanky cowboy had been decent enough to let him have a room, only having him make up for it by working the bar three nights a week and getting some dough through sleazy tips, which was usually only enough for him to get a pack of smokes, unless he decided to lift them, or put some gas in the T-Bird. It was petty cash, and the thought bummed him out a bit.

The man cleared his throat. "You'd rather be spending your time getting boozed up, knocked around, and locked up rather than getting an education?"

"I've got plenty of everything," he replied, grinning ruefully. "A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and I'm all set." He leaned back in the chair, kicking his legs out and crossing his ankles, arms folding over his chest. "Say, how's Valerie doin'?"

The look that Henderson gave him right then wasn't pleasant, and Dallas's smile only widened all the more, knowing that he'd gotten under the man's skin. Mentioning his wife was always a good rise, and it made Jack get fed up enough that he would usually speed their visits along and send him on his way.

Jack ignored the question entirely, but his discomfort didn't go unnoticed. "I see that you've been avoiding trouble and maintaining good grades." He eyed the teen with a raised brow. "I stopped by your father's house."

Dallas scowled, head turning a little. "Well, did ya find anything worthwhile?" His tone was bitter and indignant as always. Henderson was always firm with him while trying to nail him for something, and that was something Dallas despised about the man in general. "Can't say I can help you with the old man. He can't even help himself."

"This isn't about your father, Dallas," Henderson responded. "You're a legal adult now. However, you are still under—"

"Yeah, yeah, man," he bit out harshly, sneering. "Look, I ain't been in no trouble at all, and I've been following the judge's orders, gettin' decent grades and shit. I ain't even missed one day at that fu— place. Can we finish this meeting already? I've got better things to do, Jackie, unless you'd really like to spend the rest of your afternoon with me."

Officer Henderson stared at the hood across from him. He didn't exactly like Dallas Winston, but he'd never hated him, not fully at least. The teen had several different parole officers in the past, and his rap sheet was a mile long, but he'd never really given him too much trouble, well, not what was considered _too much trouble_ for Dallas Winston anyway.

Staring at the teen's animalistic grin, small, sharp teeth peeking through his parted lips, Officer Henderson decided that he had better things to do as well. Sure, he could leave Winston sit there all day, but there was nothing to hold him on, which was what surprised the man. Of course, he had been checking in on the teen here and there, but he hadn't done anything to arouse suspicion as of late.

With a sigh, he nodded. "You're free to go, Dallas. I'll see you in four months . . . and hopefully not sooner."

The last part was mumbled, but Dallas smirked as he exited the room, the words not missed by his ears.

* * *

Soda spotted his younger brother and Two-Bit strolling up leisurely to the entrance of the DX, and his smile brightened a little as he folded the magazine he was reading and swiped it off to the side. He was bored out of his mind that afternoon; Steve and Rudy, another employee, were working on the cars in the back, and Benny had placed him in the store, which annoyed him a little.

"Hey'ya, Sodapop!" Two-Bit greeted, clapping the younger teen on the shoulder. "Look what I dragged along with me, huh?" He motioned to Ponyboy. "Stopped by your house earlier and found the kid half out of it."

Soda smiled, tossing his arm around his kid brother's shoulders. "Can it, Mathews." His tone was ever teasing, though. "Glad y'all stopped by. I'm about to fall asleep in here by myself." He sighed. "Ain't any customers coming along today, except for a few gals who needed a fill, but that's all."

"We just came from the movie house," Ponyboy broke in, shrugging out from under Soda's arm and grabbing a Pepsi from the back. "Not a lot of action going on today."

Two-Bit nodded along. "Hell, it's like the town is dead or something. At least there will be a party down near Brumly's outfit tonight." He looked Soda over. "You comin' along?"

The golden-haired teen rubbed the back of his neck. "Gee, I don't know. I was thinking that I might just stay in tonight for a change."

Ponyboy looked both surprised and relieved at this. "Really?"

"Sure, kid," he replied lightly. "Ya know, it's been a while since the three of us have done anything together, and I was thinking that we could, ya know, change things up a bit."

Two-Bit, although he wasn't bothered at all, faked hurt. "Well, that's just mighty fine for y'all. I'll have to head on down there alone, without your fine company."

"What about Dally?"

The older teen glanced at the youngest, running a comb through his rusty-red hair. "Dallas? Who the hell knows where that greasy hood is anyhow?"

Soda's brows furrowed together. "Well, if you find him, drag him along with you."

Two-Bit shrugged, placing his comb in his back pocket. "I'm thinkin' it's best Dally don't visit any parties for a while, especially with that stunt back in December."

"What stunt?" Ponyboy inquired, looking perplexed. He was certain that the towheaded hood hadn't been stirring up any trouble, but he reminded himself that this _was_ Dallas Winston they were talking about, and no matter how much good behavior he could maintain, trouble was never avoidable. "What happened?"

Soda's eyes met Two-Bit's wearily. "Nothin' happened, Ponyboy. Tim Shepard and few of the guys, including Dallas, went to a party before Christmas and . . . well, the usual, I guess."

The younger greaser didn't look like he quite believed that, but he let it go all the same. "Sure." His eyes shifted to Two-Bit. "You went, too?"

"Me an' Steve," he admitted, casual like. "But don't worry, Ponyboy, we got Dally back to Buck's in one piece."

Well, that was truth enough, the older teen told himself. Everyone, except Ponyboy, knew what had happened at George Clayton's Christmas party, the incident being a payback on Ponyboy's behalf, not that he needed to know about it. Afterward, they had ended up at Buck's roadhouse, getting plastered until they were tossed out for the night, save for Dallas, but that was because he had a room.

Still, what Ponyboy didn't know couldn't hurt him.

* * *

Ella sighed, arranging a few cans of soup on the shelf at the store. It was late in the evening, and she had been growing a little antsy over the last few hours. She loved her job and all, but being back for the first time in over a week felt odd. Still, there was only a little over an hour left of her shift, and if she simply took her time with the arrangement of food items, she figured it would keep her focused longer.

Jan had noticed earlier that the girl was getting restless and suggested that she clean up instead of working the register.

In honesty, Ella was more content where she wasn't interacting with the customers. It wasn't that she was nervous, but ever since the incident with Craig, she had grown very self-conscious with the marks that were still healing on her face. The stares from people hadn't gone unnoticed by the teen, and she could feel her cheeks growing hot as the looks only intensified up close.

She had gone back to school the day before to collect her work and see what she'd missed out on, and for the most part, nobody had questioned her. It was as if the talk had already died out, and she was left to dissipate with the gossip of old. Besides, there were plenty of others things to discuss, and there was always a new topic practically every day, whether it was who was doing what, who had gotten arrested, or anything else that called for attention.

It seemed silly returning to school for only one day, but she had done it, and she felt better that she had survived the day. In biology, she had made sure to not spare one glance at Craig, but she could feel his eyes on her, and that disturbed her more than anything.

"El?" Jan called, approaching her in the aisle. The older woman gave her a small smile. "It's seven, so I'm about to head out. I don't reckon Melinda is stayin' much longer, either, so the registers will be cleared." She looked her over. "What time does your shift end, hunny?"

"Eight thirty," she answered, standing up and dusting her skirt off. "I'll be alright, Jan."

Jan nodded slowly. She'd been keeping a careful eye on her co-worker since her return that afternoon, as if she were expecting something terrible to happen all over again.

"Well, if you need me, give me a call, alright?"

"Of course."

Ella watched Jan leave with a frown. She had always been real fond of the woman, but she wished she wouldn't worry about her like that. Something in her gut twisted though, and as time moved forward through the evening, she found herself becoming more anxious. Her eyes shifted to the clock every few minutes before moving back in the direction of the door, as if she was expecting— No, she told herself, breathing in deeply, she didn't want to think about it.

Eight o'clock came around quicker than the teen expected, but she was grateful. The only problem was that she didn't have a ride home, and her palms seemed to sweat as she considered walking back after her shift. She hadn't mentioned anything to her mother that morning about working, and she suddenly wished she had.

Perhaps she could simply call her at the bar downtown and ask if she could— She stopped herself again; she couldn't do that.

The girl sighed, thinking that she was awfully stupid for not even considering the issue beforehand. It was afternoon when she had walked to the store, and not once had she felt upset or anxious, so what was the problem now?

Ella shook her head, deciding that she was just being silly. She would walk home just fine by herself and be alright—she had done it several times in the past. The bell above the door gave a chime as Peter, another employee, entered the store. He nodded once to Ella as he headed to the back to continue stocking.

Usually, Peter or Ella were the two who closed up, depending on the night, and Ella was glad that it was Peter's turn to stay until ten; she was ready to bail.

She never minded working the front alone, usually feeling more at ease without the company of other people, but this particular night unnerved her, and she assumed it was the memory of Craig attacking her that was doing it.

Somebody entered the store a minute later, and Ella jerked around to face the front, hands moving the candy bars she'd been arranging beside the register off to the side to see who had come in. Her chest tightened a little, but she brushed the feeling off, telling herself to quit being so stupid, but those thoughts were completely washed away when a head of blond hair appeared in her vision.

She nearly jumped back in surprise. "Dallas."

He eyed her coolly, still pissed off from their conversation earlier that week. "Two packs of Kool."

Ella nodded, turning quickly and avoiding his gaze. She had done a mighty fine job making sure the two of them didn't run into each other when she attended school on Friday, and she still wasn't ready to see him just yet. Something about his presence made her blood run cold, and she wasn't sure why, but at the same time, it made her stomach flip and her throat close up like she couldn't speak.

"Here," she said quietly, handing the packs to him carefully as he dropped some change onto the counter, his gaze never leaving her face.

"You plan on showing up to school any time soon, or are ya gonna keep hiding?" he asked, packing the cigarettes and tearing the package open. He placed a cigarette behind his ear casually, raising an ashy brow at her. "Well?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm not hiding. I'll be back on Monday." Her eyes flickered to the clock again. "I'm going to clock out, so I guess I'll see you in school." She bit her lip, chin lowering a little. "Bye, Dallas."

Dallas rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

He was a few steps from the door as he lit up, exhaling as he walked outside, eyes roaming the parking lot for Mrs. Mitchell's Impala. He'd only seen the car a couple of times from dropping Ella off at her house after their tutoring sessions, but when he realized that it wasn't in the lot, he wondered if Ella was actually fucking stupid enough to walk the streets at night.

Well, he noted dully, she was stupid enough to do it before _and_ end up getting jumped. What was to stop her from making that mistake again? Surely not her fucking intelligence, that was for sure, because Ella was certainly not street smart, the dope.

Leaning back against the building, Dallas sneered, waiting for the girl to exit the store, and he didn't wait all that long. Ella walked out a few minutes later, hands tucked inside her jacket pockets, head down as she began walking in the direction of her neighborhood.

"Jesus Christ," the blond muttered to himself, pushing away from the building. Dopey was actually that stupid, no surprise there. "You lookin' to get jumped again, sweets?" he called out, a cocky expression on his face.

Ella felt her heart leap in her chest as she turned around, countenance reflecting bafflement. "What are you doing here still?"

Dallas motioned around them. "You're actually fucking dumb enough to walk home by yourself?" He shook his head, spitting profanities under his breath. "For one who's a tutor, you certainly don't have any workin' brains up there, do ya?"

Ella frowned, but her eyes narrowed, expressing her irritation. "What do you care?"

"I don't," came the blunt answer. "I just had to see if you were really that stupid."

The girl only glared, hands curling into fists inside her pockets. She wasn't in the mood to argue, or even deal, with Dallas at the moment. She just wanted to get home, and quickly. Sure, the hood had a point, but he didn't need to rub it in her face and belittle her senseless.

"Well, now that you have an answer, you can go," she bit out, knowing her comeback was dumber than her walking home by herself. "Besides, I don't need you looking out for me."

Dallas watched her walk on for a moment, contemplating his next move. Sure, he really didn't give a hoot about Ella Mitchell, or what happened to her, but some part of him wasn't exactly cool with her walking the streets at night by herself, either. He wasn't sure why it aggravated him so much, but looking at the fading bruises along her face in the dim lighting angered him.

Speaking of which, the thought of George Clayton entered his mind, eyes hardening as he pictured the Soc who had bothered Ponyboy and raised his hands to a girl. He'd had plans to teach that fucker a lesson, but when he looked around for the bastard Thursday in school, he was quite nettled to learn that he was absent due to a brief vacation with his family.

Well, he was in luck, but that luck wouldn't hold out when he returned to school. Dallas was brooding, an impassive look blanketing his features as he imagined his fists pounding into the other boy. He was done caring about what people told him, he was done playing the nice guy. The act had gone on long enough, as far as he was concerned, and he didn't give a rat's ass what Ella said, either.

Before he knew it, he was almost beside the girl as she came to a stop at the sound of his footsteps trudging along behind her. Her brows rose in surprise and confusion when she saw the near blazing look in his blue orbs. Surely, he couldn't really be concerned for her, could he? Ella wasn't exactly sure why, but for a moment, some small part of her actually hoped, but it was dropped immediately.

"What?" she asked, grounding her teeth together, the impatience in her voice not going unheard.

Dallas glared. "You ain't walking home by yourself." He nodded to the T-Bird across the lot. "Let's go."

He didn't wait for a response, either, and Ella was left nearly stunned for a second as he turned on his heel and began walking back in the opposite direction.

* * *

The ride was practically silent, Ella pressed up against the passenger side door, avoiding the glances from the hood beside her. Dallas was irked, impossibly so, and not just because he had actually decided to drive Ella fucking Mitchell home, but because he was still pissed at her for lying to him. He couldn't understand why the dope was covering for a guy who had nearly beat her to death, and the thought only caused his blood to boil all the more when he remembered Ponyboy doing the same thing.

On the other hand, Ella was more than grateful for the ride, but something inside of her was pivoting, making her feel both guilty and annoyed. She didn't want any help from Dallas Winston what-so-ever, but at the same time, she was glad it was him who had come along. It didn't make sense to her, and she wondered why he would even offer, or rather demand, that she leave with him.

Perhaps it was just his pride, or the fact that he wanted to play hero, and having Ella herself succumb to that only boosted his ego and made him more smug. Ella wouldn't put any of that past him, but in the same token, it seemed a little far-fetched.

"Well?" came the voice of Dallas. He shot her a look. "You getting' out or what?" And then, noticing her conflicted expression, he scowled. "We're here, stupid."

Ella felt her face growing hot. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't even realized that they had arrived at her house.

Still, she fired back at him with a bitter tone. "Didn't know you were in such a rush, excuse me."

"I've got things to do, places to be," he replied icily.

"Yeah, sure, like getting drunk?" she mumbled, shaking her head.

The blond ground his teeth. "What's it to ya?" He glared. "Can't you just keep yer trap shut and get the hell outta the car?"

"Fine," she bit out, clearly upset. "Thanks for the ride," she continued sarcastically, and made sure to slam to the door with force.

Turning on her heel, she ignored the sound of the tires peeling away, and bit her lip, wondering why her chest was so tight and her stomach was flipping around so much. As Craig's face came to mind, she huffed, feeling the knife in her heart plunging a little deeper, the thought of Dallas's smug look reflecting back at her all the more.

She wondered when she would ever catch a break.

 _Why did love put a knife in my heart?_

 _Why did love open up my scars?_

 _Why did love put a knife in my heart?_

 _In my bed, in my head, in my heart_

* * *

 **As always, thank you for the unceasing support! :3  
**


	31. Searching For Answers

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Within Temptation owns "A Dangerous Mind."**

* * *

 _I'm searching for answers_

 _'Cause something is not right_

 _I follow the signs_

 _I'm close to the fire_

 **February 7, 1966**

Ella was almost happy to be back at school again, but only because she had been too cooped up in her house for the past week. Friday had felt more forced, but she was glad she attended and made it through the entire day, not dealing with anyone's questions or constant stares. The bruises were nearly faded, and the incident only seemed to be a memory, one Ella wished was more distant.

Although she was currently fine, her mood soured a little when her homeroom teacher gave her a slip to see Mrs. Philips that afternoon. She could only imagine what the woman could want to talk with her about, and she wasn't at all looking forward to that visit.

As the teen entered biology, her gaze instantly landed on Craig, who was already heading in her direction, a blank look on his face. Ella felt her nerves rising, but she played it cool, although her hands were becoming quite clammy.

Craig thrust an object in her direction. "I just figured, since we aren't together anymore, that you would want this back."

Ella glared at the watch she'd gotten him for Christmas. "You can keep it. I don't want it."

"What about my ring?" he asked in a hard tone. "I'd like it back."

Remembering the day she'd thrown the jewel into her bag, having not touched it since, she angrily dug around for it, fingers shifting through papers, notebooks, pens, and other items, until she felt the one she was searching for brush against her skin. Grounding her teeth together, an idea struck her mind, one she could potentially use to her advantage.

She wasn't going to give Craig what he wanted. "I guess I misplaced it," she uttered after a moment of fake searching. "I'll have to look for it when I get home."

Craig gave her a look of disbelief. "You better have it by tomorrow."

The girl stared at the back of his head as he walked away, unnerved that he'd even approached her so casually, as if nothing had ever ensued between them, as if he hadn't put her in the hospital a week ago.

He didn't believe her bluff that day when she'd divulged her knowledge about him and George, and it was time to prove him wrong, she figured. She might not have been able to go to the police about what had happened concerning the two of them, but she certainly wasn't going to let them get away with it, either.

She could only hope to come up with something before the next day, but what?

* * *

Ponyboy swapped his books out for third period, wishing that the school day was over and done with already. He hadn't wanted to go that day, but Darry wasn't exactly lenient that morning, either, going on about what would happen if he missed school, and how the social worker was still breathing down his neck since September, and a bunch of other things the teen had tuned out.

He knew that Darry cared about him, that he only wanted the best for him, but wasn't he allowed some freedom once in a while? Well, according to his oldest brother, he wasn't, but he had been easing up on him a lot more, and he had apologized for bringing up the incident. Still, Ponyboy wished he wasn't there; he wanted to focus more on the matter concerning his book.

A familiar sight of bushy brown hair appeared in his vision as he closed his locker, a look of worry shadowing his face as he made his way over to the older girl, calling her name out and falling in step with her. He'd been concerned since hearing what happened, and he had been wondering if her attacker that night was really George Clayton.

"How are you?" he asked, glancing at her and trying to remain casual.

Ella nodded. "I'm fine, I suppose. How've you been?"

"Alright," he admitted, shifting the books in his hands.

The two were silent for a minute, and Ponyboy felt somewhat uncomfortable. He liked Ella just fine, but he didn't deem it appropriate to blurt out his question just yet. Still, he wanted to know what had really happened, and he frowned at the thought.

Ella could practically feel the younger teen's desperation from beside her. Ponyboy had every right to know what had occurred between her and Craig, but some part of her wasn't ready to open up about it just then. The nagging thought that she had gotten him to admit the truth played at the back of her mind, though, and she found herself sighing.

"I know you want to ask," she said, crossing her arms. "It wasn't George Clayton."

The boy's brows rose at her sudden statement. "Was it . . . Craig?" He mentally kicked himself for coming off so straightforward, instantly regretting it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"It's alright," she replied quietly, eyes lowering a little. "I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it."

Ponyboy nodded sympathetically. "I get it."

Ella pursed her lips. "No, you don't. I feel awful about making you not come forward with the truth about Craig all those weeks ago, and I'm real sorry, Ponyboy."

He came to an abrupt stop, looking at her closely. Her voice was trembling a bit, and she was fighting back a lot of emotions. He knew from firsthand experience what it was like to be in that predicament, but her behavior gave him all the answers he needed as well. He'd been right earlier, he noted with contempt, it was Craig.

That time, he didn't beat around the bush. "So it was him?"

She bit her lip, nodding slowly. "Please don't—"

"It's okay," he interrupted, shaking his head. "I'm not sayin' anything."

Ella nodded again, nibbling her lower lip and attempting to keep her tears at bay. She wasn't going to cry in front of Ponyboy Curtis, or anyone for that matter. Still, something about the younger teen's company made her feel worse, and she suddenly wished she hadn't stopped when she heard him calling for her only minutes prior.

She hadn't wanted to admit the truth regarding Craig to anyone, either, but she knew that Ponyboy was too smart to believe otherwise, and something told her that he had already guessed Craig before even questioning her. Thing was, he knew Craig a bit better when it came to his devious side, and with her knowledge of Dallas Winston's involvement with George Clayton's attack, she knew that George was aware of what Craig had done, too, which made her feel even worse.

She decided to switch the topic. "You see Dallas around?"

Ponyboy shrugged. "Not since last week actually. I know he went to a party over the weekend, but I haven't seen him around, not even today."

Ella's eyes widened a little as she replayed his words in her head. It was as if something was pulling at her chest, her body seeming to become numb as a chill moved up her spine. She remembered seeing Dallas Winston with a few other guys at George Clayton's party back in December, and a sudden jolt of knowledge flooded her mind. She wondered why she hadn't known it before, why none of the pieces had added up until just then.

And now there was only one person she had to speak to—the one person she wasn't looking forward to seeing at all.

* * *

George splashed some cool water onto his face, glancing once at his reflection in the mirror. Ever since he had found out what Craig had done to Ella, he'd been worried sick, and not just for his friend, but for himself, too. He never wanted an encounter like the last one he had to happen again, and the thought alone caused him to feel completely sick. He hadn't slept all that well, hadn't bothered to do anything really. In all honesty, he thought he was being idiotic, but he couldn't help it.

Lord, but he could still hear their voices, could still hear their threats, and he could feel every punch and kick they gave him until he'd nearly passed out.

Why hadn't Craig just stayed out of it, like he originally wanted? Why did his asshole girlfriend have to go searching for answers? Nothing would have happened if Craig hadn't— He paused, then, shaking his head. It was no use thinking about what would have happened when there was no way to fix it, not now at least.

The sound of the bathroom door opening alerted the boy of somebody else walking in, and he quickly wiped his face off with his hands, before turning to head out. Unfortunately, his path was blocked by the one person he was definitely _not_ looking forward to meeting up with.

"Heading out?" Dallas asked, a grim smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

George forced himself to stand up straighter in order to not look like a coward in front of the hood. Just looking at the blond caused his stomach to twist inside. He loathed Dallas Winston more than anyone else, and just the sight of him made him sick.

"I was just leaving," he replied, not bothering to hide his dislike.

Too bad, Dallas thought, and took a step forward. He'd been looking for this prick all fucking day, and now that he had him cornered, he wasn't letting him get away. No, they were going to have a little chat first, and Dallas was looking forward very much to knocking this kid's block off. Before George had a chance to question him, he found himself shoved backward into the wall beside the sinks, a sharp object pressed against his throat.

Dally's eyes were blazing, his face only an inch from Clayton's. "You're gonna tell me what the fuck happened with Ella Mitchell, or you'll end up with this blade in your throat, hear me?"

George wished more than anything that someone would just walk in. "I don't know what happened to her," he lied, attempting to move away from the knife. "Are you insane?"

He ignored the question, only adding more pressure to the blade. He could see the fear in the other boy's eyes, and he knew that he was lying immediately. He could kill him, he thought bitterly, if only the fucker moved the wrong way, or the right way, depending on how you looked at it.

"One more chance," he said, watching George cringe. Glory, but this guy was a wimp if he'd ever seen one—he'd had blades pressed to his neck plenty of times, and never once had he even flinched.

It occurred to George that Dallas could possibly kill him right then and there, and he suddenly felt more fear creeping along his insides, making his head spin. With Dallas so close to him, he could literally feel the other teen breathing on him, could see his small animal-like teeth, and the cold look in his eyes which made them seem like two ice crystals. Up close, he resembled a wild and ferocious animal, and George realized that this wasn't the guy he wanted to tangle with. He was dangerous.

"Why don't you ask her boyfriend," he spit out, trying not to move too much.

A flash of confusion crossed Winston's face, but it was quickly removed. "The fuck's he have to do with anything?"

George was breathing heavily, no longer able to hold his cool. " _I_ didn't touch her!"

After a minute, Dallas backed off, the knife still in his grasp. He tried to remember Ella's boyfriend, jaw clenching and brows knitting together. What the fuck was his name again? Fish-Eyes? Christian? No, that wasn't it. Chris? Crandell? Craine? _Craig_ , that was it. Craig Bryant.

"Yer tellin' me Craig Bryant attacked her?" he asked, unsure if he believed it.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" George bit back, eyeing the door.

"And you expect me to believe that shit?" His voice was hard. He approached the other teen again, raising the blade and moving it back against his skin. "Give me one reason to believe you."

George rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the cool sensation of the hood's knife at his throat. His gaze shifted back toward the door, a silent plea for someone, anyone, to walk in.

"You think I'd go after that bitch after what your scumbag friends did to me?" he responded, daring to look into the blond's eyes. "I haven't said one word to your greaser friend, and I certainly haven't talked to the Mitchell girl."

Dallas grit his teeth while the other boy slandered Ponyboy. "And your other friend, Craig?"

George was growing more aggravated by the second. "He was pissed, alright? He was out for revenge because his girl went digging where she shouldn't have." A smirk crossed his lips for a split second, one which hadn't gone unnoticed by Dallas. "But I guess we're even now, since your boys crashed my party back in December. Curtis got what was coming to him." He sneered. "If he didn't open his mouth, none of this would have happened."

Dallas wanted nothing more than to just beat the shit out of George Clayton, but he knew he couldn't, and even with the mood he was in, he had to rationalize the consequences. He couldn't exactly do a lot to George right then, even though he was ready to just act out on impulse. Still, he had gotten more than what he'd hoped for, and now he knew that Ella _hadn't_ lied to him.

"That's why you sent that fucking note to him," he growled, and shoved the boy back, his head hitting the wall hard. "You're a fucking pussy." Another shove. "I find out you so much as breathe in that kid's direction, or you open your fucking mouth about this, whatever jumping you had last time will look like a social visit, savvy?"

George nodded weakly. "Savvy."

And he meant it.

"Oh, and one more thing," the blond added, and before the other teen could react, his face was meant with the hood's fist, sending him back into the wall under the sound of a _crunch_ , his body sliding to the floor and landing with a _thud._

Dallas exited the bathroom, tucking his blade back into his pocket—he would later dispose of it just in case Clayton tried anything. But now that George was taken care of, Dally had other fish to fry before he was completely finished with everything.

* * *

Ella really didn't enjoy the idea of missing out on another class just to meet with Mrs. Philips. She was behind enough as it was, and she didn't even like her visitations with the counselor in general. The girl was certain the feeling was mutual, but it wasn't like she could really skip out, either.

Drumming her fingers against her knee, the teen sighed, leaning her head back a bit. She'd been a bit preoccupied with thoughts of Craig the entire morning, or so it seemed, wanting nothing more than to get justice for herself and Ponyboy. It angered her that Craig thought he could go on like nothing had happened between them, like he could treat her how he wanted. Well, she wasn't having any of it; she was done playing nice with him.

"Hello, Ella," Mrs. Philips greeted, stepping into her office, the door closing with a light click. She offered the girl a smile. "How are you?"

Ella stared at the older woman for a second as if she'd suddenly sprouted two heads. It was as if her entire personality had changed since the last time they had seen each other, and then it occurred to her that Mrs. Philips was only acting decent because of the absence of Dallas Winston. Ella had only ever seen the woman with Dallas present, and now that he wasn't there, Mrs. Philips was in a better mood.

It surprised her that Dallas had so much of an effect on people, how he was able to sway their moods with his very presence alone. Well, she couldn't blame them really, for she had judged the hood before officially meeting him—she'd never given him a chance.

"Alright," she answered, sitting up in the chair, hoping to get the meeting over and done with.

Mrs. Philips nodded, noticing the teen's anxious expression. "This isn't about your grades," she said after a moment. "I sent for you out of concern . . . with what's happened."

Ella bit the inside of her cheek, hands folding together. Of course, even the school counselors had heard the news about her attack, and now Mrs. Philips was trying to get into her business. It made her feel sick, like she would never be able to escape what Craig had done. Deep down, she knew that the woman was only doing her job, but it didn't stop her from feeling overly frustrated either.

"Well, I'm fine," she replied, trying to keep the bite out of her tone. "Perfectly fine."

She wasn't sure if Mrs. Philips bought that or not, but with the look she gave her, she was sure that she hadn't. Even her teachers had looked at her with concern, as if she were ready to crack. She had tried to keep herself calm and collected, but now that she was being questioned, she felt agitated, ready to just burst and march straight out of the school.

"Alright," Mrs. Philips said, pursing her lips. "There is one thing that I must ask you, though, if that's okay with you."

Ella's brows pulled together. "Sure."

"I know this isn't easy for you, and I assure you that everything you say will remain confidential," she spoke, her voice very casual and crisp. "You've been tutoring Dallas Winston since October, and I was just curious as to how that was going for you, setting aside his improvements."

The girl's expression reflected confusion, not following the older woman. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

A sigh. "Has Dallas made you uncomfortable, or has he done anything to make you uncomfortable?"

Oh, boy, Ella thought to herself, there was an entire list of things the hood had done to her that had made her uncomfortable, made her regret not reporting him, and made her despise him more than anything else, but she wasn't about to divulge that information to Mrs. Philips, no matter how much she hated Dallas Winston in the past.

"No."

"Are you certain, Miss Mitchell?"

And then it suddenly clicked in her mind what Mrs. Philips was hinting at. Ella nearly laughed out loud at the thought alone. Oh, sure, Dallas had done things to her, hurt her, slandered her, harassed her, but he had _never_ raised a hand to her, and it dawned on her that everyone must have thought that Dallas was the one who had attacked her—if only they knew the truth.

"I'm quite certain, Mrs. Philips," she answered, raising her chin a bit. "What exactly are you trying to imply?"

Mrs. Philips looked somewhat stunned at the question, but she shook her head, brushing it off. "I'm sorry, Miss Mitchell, I didn't mean to insinuate anything, however, it is my job to inquire, especially when it comes to the safety of the students."

Ella almost sneered. Of course, they would automatically assume Dallas put her in the hospital; they would never think of Craig Bryant or George Clayton or Kevin Rogers, would they? But Mr. Davis wouldn't think twice about suspending Ponyboy Curtis for a fight caused by George Clayton, would he? No, he wouldn't, because who could even begin to imagine that a guy like George could ever cause so much trouble, that he was . . . that he was human, too?

She was irked. "Well, consider your apology accepted, Mrs. Philips. Is that all?"

The woman could only stare after the girl with a bewildered expression plastered on her face after she had dismissed her, unsure of what to think.

* * *

Ella was more than ready to leave the high school at the end of the day. It wasn't that she was angry or anything, but she'd had enough of everyone and everything for one day. Between her encounter with Craig earlier that morning, and then her visit with Mrs. Philips, not to mention, the pestering inquires from her teachers, she was finished.

What she wasn't ready for, however, was to see a familiar hood leaning against her locker, one knee bent back so that his foot rested against the door, his arms crossed as he scowled at nothing in particular. Oh, joy, she thought with contempt, sluggishly making her way toward him with a frown.

"Could you move?" she asked coolly, looking up at him expectantly. "You're in my way."

Dallas didn't seem all that thrilled to see her, either. In fact, he didn't even express cockiness or a smug expression—he looked perturbed, and uncharacteristically put-off.

"Did you need something?" Ella asked once he moved, trying not to look over at him. "I didn't think we were going to meet today for—"

"That ain't why I'm here," came the brisk response, and she could feel him move closer to her. "We need to talk."

Grabbing her books, she swallowed the forming lump in her throat. "About?"

Something about the way the blond had uttered those words made the hairs on the back of her neck seem to stand, goosebumps forming across her skin. A strange sensation crept up her spine, but before she could let it get to her, she brushed it off.

Dallas continued, ignoring her question. "I'll tell you in the car."

"Wait," she called out as he began walking away. "I can't go with you." The girl bit her lip, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. "I'm . . . I've got work."

The hood merely stared at her. "Yeah, and I've got a car."

"But—"

"Jesus Christ," he interrupted, glowering at her. "What's your deal?" He was becoming annoyed. "I can drive you to your fucking job. I need to talk with ya."

Ella knew that she was going to have to talk with Dallas sooner or later, and she was more than willing to do so that morning, well, sort of. But now, for some unknown reason, she could feel herself clamming up, as if she were afraid to be alone with him, but why? She had never been scared of the other teen before—nervous, sure—and she couldn't fathom it.

Her head was spinning. What could she say, though?

"Okay," she breathed after a few seconds.

With her head down, she didn't notice the frown crossing the blond's lips as the two headed out of the school and made their way to the T-Bird.

Ella climbed into the passenger seat, clutching her bag against her side and pressing herself against the door. She felt weird, as if something wasn't right, and her gut was twisting, her mind racing, and her throat seeming to close up so she couldn't speak.

Dallas drove slow, too, which confused her; he'd always enjoyed driving fast before. Daring a glance at his face, she realized that he looked conflicted about something, an expression she had never seen from him before.

The blond's frown only deepened when he felt Ella's eyes on him. "Ran into Clayton today," he divulged, fingers gripping the steering wheel a little harder.

The girl's heart leaped. "And?"

"I think you know already," he replied, not concealing the harshness in his voice. "I'll give you one chance to tell me the truth, though." Their eyes met for a split second, but in that second, he could see the dilation of her pupils—she knew what he getting at. "Did Craig jump you?"

The question was asked with such casualty that Ella's breath hitched in her throat. She wanted to tell him, she wanted someone to know, but she couldn't. If he found out that it was Craig, he would know everything, and that frightened her. Ella was never one to willingly choose the coward's route, but this time, she wasn't so certain she had any other choice.

What, or who, was she protecting, though? Clearly not herself, and definitely not Ponyboy.

Her voice came out pathetically quiet. "Is that what George said?"

Dallas was attempting to contain his patience, but it was wearing thin. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Ella, he needed to. He knew George wasn't going to try anything, and Fish-Eyes wasn't getting off the hook, either. A sudden thought dawned on him, and he realized why Ella wasn't opening her mouth, and why Ponyboy was keeping quiet about George.

Craig fucking Bryant and George Clayton were buddies, and Craig was Ella's ex.

Gritting his teeth, Dallas swerved the T-Bird to the side of the road, jamming the gearshift in park and jerking around to face the girl beside him. His eyes were hard, all expressions absent, except for rage, and he could feel it boiling beneath his skin.

"Are you protecting him?" he bit out, the sharpness of his voice causing Ella to flinch. "The fucking kid, your ex, he's been buddies with Clayton this entire time, hasn't he?"

Ella's attempt at remaining calm was faltering. "It's not what you think—"

"Then you'd better have one hell of an explanation."

She could hear the warning in his words alone, her heart speeding up and pounding against her rib cage hardly; now she was truly afraid of what Dallas might do. She'd seen him fired up and angry before, but this was different, this was pure hatred looking back at her.

"Craig found out that I knew what was going on with George and Ponyboy," she admitted, her fingers twiddling in her lap. "I originally found out from somebody else, and when I questioned Ponyboy about it, he told me the truth." A sigh. "I told him I would take care of Craig, but when I spoke to him that same night, he only got angry."

"And?"

"George showed up at my job and threatened me," she continued. "Nothing ever came of that threat because he was jumped, and Craig, well, he was mad and upset. He thought I had something to do with it, and . . . you know the rest."

Dallas was livid. He felt absolutely no remorse for Ella what-so-ever. She should have told him about Craig before, and not because of her issues, but because of Ponyboy. His jaw was turning white from how hard it was clenched, and he thought that he might just hit the girl. This was her fucking fault—she should have just—

His fist suddenly hit the dash and he swore awhile. Ella remained frozen, unsure of what to do or what to say. She felt sick, and she wasn't sure if admitting the truth was a good idea or not. Still, she didn't want to say anything in fear that Dallas would snap again.

"Let me guess," he said after a minute, "Cherry Valance told you?"

Ella's eyes widened in surprise. "She was concerned."

"Yeah, I'll bet she was," he muttered icily.

A silence past between them, and Ella merely stared out the window. She wasn't sure what to do about anything, but she was going to deal with Craig one way or the other. She remembered his class ring that was still laying at the bottom of her bag, and her eyes narrowed in vexation. Some part of her still felt guilty about Ponyboy, and she sighed lightly.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice seeming louder than what it was.

Dallas only glared. "You're fucking sorry? It's your own fault that you were jumped." He turned back around, the sneer still evident on his face. "If you would have said something to me when you found out what was going on, none of this shit would have happened, but you had to play hero with your fucking boyfriend. Well, look where that got ya."

Ella was suddenly floored with anger at his words. "You know something? If you and your friends never showed up at George Clayton's party back in December, _nothing_ would have happened. Don't blame me for your mistakes," she growled. "Did you ever think that any of your actions had any sort of consequence?" She turned to face him, all prior feelings of fear forgotten. "That's the reason that he sent Ponyboy that note, because he thought Ponyboy was behind your little surprise visit."

He could have laughed at that, but he was too aggravated. "Fuck you."

"No," she practically yelled out. "Fuck _you!_ "

Dallas, for all his worth, went quiet, surprised at the girl's outburst. She'd never swore before, and the fact that she had come back at him like that stunned him. He'd been around girls who swore all the time, but Ella Mitchell? That was startling, even to him.

Ella was done being bossed around and treated poorly by the likes of Dallas. "You're right," she said, after a minute. "It is my fault that I was jumped, because I didn't say anything sooner, but Craig is my problem now, and I'm going to take care of him."

The blond raised an eyebrow. "You aren't going to do shit. Why don't you—"

"You took care of George because he was bothering Ponyboy," she interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Craig is my problem."

"But he was in on it, too," he reminded her, an edge in his tone. "So that makes him half _my_ problem."

Ella was still upset and angry, but she knew, deep down, that she would require some help with any revenge scheme she was going to plan for Craig. Dallas was right, she figured, Craig was both of their problem, and whatever happened, they would both take care of the issue.

"I thought you couldn't get into any trouble," she said after a minute, watching as he put the car in drive and pulled back onto the road.

A bitter smirk curved his lips up. "Who said anything about trouble?"

 _I just have to know, while I still have time_

 _Do I have to run or hide away from you?_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for all of the feedback on this story! :3  
**


	32. Run With the Bad Boys

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Runaways (1987) own "I Want To Run With The Bad Boys."**

* * *

 _In our town, there's a bunch of guys_

 _Who act real wild and they rule the night_

 **February 11, 1966**

"Hey, Darry?" Ponyboy called, placing his breakfast dishes in the sink. "If someone wrote a book, and they wanted to use your name, would you be okay with that?"

Darry shrugged, tugging his work boots on. "I can't see why not."

"But would you want them to tell you first?"

"Well, that all depends, Ponyboy," he answered, bending down to tie his laces. "I guess it would really depend on if the story was true or not, know what I mean?"

"Sure," Pony replied, looking thoughtful. And then he added, "What if it was meant to be a surprise, and the author gave it to you, published an' all?"

Darry eyed his youngest brother oddly. "What? You thinkin' of writing about our family?"

The red-headed teen felt his cheeks getting hot, and he was sure his ears were red. He'd been thinking about his book and Mr. Franklin all week, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do about the issue of using everyone's names. It seemed silly, but he understood at the same time. Still, he hadn't told anyone about his semester theme yet, and he certainly wasn't going to divulge anything about the upcoming book, either.

"No," he said after a minute, and played it off. "Shoot, could you imagine that, though?"

"Imagine what?" Soda asked, trailing into the kitchen.

Darry chuckled, shaking his head. "Ponyboy writing a book about our family and having it published."

Now Soda looked interested, a smile adorning his lips. "Hey now, that would be exciting enough. Just think of it, a real book written and published by our kid brother!"

"Hey, little man," Darry cut in, pointing a finger at Ponyboy, "you become an author, you can pay the bills."

"Yeah, I'll do that, Darry," Ponyboy said, shaking his head. "Me an' Soda here will support you for a change, right, Soda?"

The middle Curtis brother, with milk dripping down his chin, shook his head. "No way, kiddo. _You_ can support me and Darry for a change."

Oh, glory, he thought with a grin, shaking his head.

* * *

Ella fiddled with Craig's senior ring, looking down at it with a bitter expression. He had been hounding her all week for it, and she had been coming up with various excuses, like she had forgotten, she must have misplaced it, and as of that particular morning, she had obviously lost it. The look on Craig's face when she had told him that was almost priceless, but something made her feel guilty about the whole thing, too.

She wanted revenge on him for what he'd done to her, and now that Dallas was involved, only for the sake of Ponyboy, he was just as eager to set the other teen up. Ella wasn't sure she really wanted to be a part of that, and she was internally conflicted.

A sigh fell from her lips as she dropped the ring back inside of her bag, careful to make sure it landed in the zipper part where it wouldn't get crushed by her books. Raising her head a bit, her eyes roamed the lot for Dallas, who agreed to meet up with her during their lunch period. He'd told her earlier that morning that he had plans for Craig, and when she had inquired, he merely told her to meet him outside later that afternoon.

The girl was grateful that she and Dallas had been getting along, for the most part. Ever since she had come forward with the truth, and they both agreed to settle the score with Craig, the pair had been acting more decent toward one another. Still, being alone with Dallas made Ella feel weird, and she wasn't sure why. It wasn't a nervous feeling, either, like she'd originally felt, but it sure felt similar.

Ella brushed the feeling aside as Dallas made his way over to her, parting ways with Steve Randle and Ponyboy Curtis. She mentally flinched at the sight of the younger teen, wondering if he even knew that Dallas was hunting down Craig Bryant on his behalf. Well, one thing was for certain, George hadn't been bothering him at all, and he and Craig hardly spoke. She wasn't sure about Kevin Rogers, but she had seen him and George speaking several times in the halls between classes.

Dally nodded to her, lighting a cigarette as he leaned beside her on the trunk of the T-Bird. "Ya know, I'm surprised you'd even want to hear about this."

She raised an eyebrow. "About Craig?"

The blond rolled his eyes. "No, about the president." At her look of confusion, he continued in a sarcastic voice. "Yeah, about Craig, stupid."

"Well, why wouldn't I?" she asked, pushing her hair away from her face. "He's my problem, more so than yours or anyone's."

He exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling in the air around them. "Yeah, well, I'm just surprised is all." He gave her a cool look. "Don't know if I even want to tell you."

And that was the truth. Dallas really didn't want to include Ella Mitchell in any of his plans, plans that could potentially land him behind bars for five years straight. Ponyboy didn't know squat about what he and a few of the guys were doing that night, and he didn't really see the point of dragging Ella into the mix, even if Craig _had_ attacked her.

Ella looked annoyed. "You _should_ tell me." And then she sighed. "Look, if George never mentioned me to Mr. Davis, I wouldn't have been assigned your tutor back in October, Craig wouldn't have asked me out, and none of this would have happened." Her eyes met his, registering his impatience. "I just mean that I think I have a right to know what you're planning or going to do either way."

"Hold up a second," the blond said, turning to fully face her. He backtracked. "What do you mean that George mentioned you to Davis?"

Her eyes widened, and she realized that she forgot to divulge that little detail. Well, it didn't matter now, did it? The truth about everything was out in the open, there were no more secrets, so there was no point in repressing any other information.

She shrugged, before fishing around her bag for her own cigarettes. "It's just something Craig told me a while ago." She lit up, before continuing. "He said that it was George's idea to mention me to Mr. Davis about tutoring you back in October. I guess he figured that Craig asking me out would intentionally distract me and lead to your failure."

Dally stared at her, his expression unreadable. He sure wouldn't have thought of that, but he wasn't going to give Ella the credit for figuring it out, either. He watched her smoke silently, wondering if this was the same broad he'd met back in October, because it sure didn't seem like it. Was it even possible that one could change so much in as little as four months?

The girl changed the subject. "So, are you ever going to tell me the plans?"

He smirked, enjoying her eagerness. "Speaking of Davis an' all, I was thinkin' about having a little fun with him, too." His eyes lit up, and Ella recognized the look immediately—he was up to no good. Still, at Mr. Davis's name, she grew more interested, although concern was present on her face. "Well, I can only tell you that Craig might gain himself a record for destruction of property, maybe vandalism—"

Ella's lips parted in shock. "Wait, what?"

The shock was audible in her tone, and she stared at the hood in bewilderment. She wasn't looking to get Craig in trouble with the cops, no way. Dallas was taking this too far, wasn't he?

He blinked, taking in her stunned countenance. "You gotta problem with that?" His eyes narrowed a little. "I ain't doin' this for you, sweets, so whatever happens, remember, it has nothing to do with you what-so-ever, savvy?" He dropped his finished cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with the heel of his boot. "What do you even care, huh?"

She flicked her ashes, frowning. "I don't know. I just do."

Dallas scoffed. "Well I sure as hell wouldn't." His tone was harsh. "I wouldn't care about any asshole who left me for dead out in the streets."

"I don't care—"

He cut her off, pointing a finger in her direction. "You _do_ care, and that's yer fucking problem."

Her teeth were grounding together in anger. She hated when Dallas was right, especially when it came to her and her feelings. She loathed the fact that she still felt something for Craig, that it bothered her that something was going to happen to him, even if it wasn't as bad as what happened to her. Sure, she wanted justice, and not just for herself, but for Ponyboy, too, but nothing too extreme. For some reason that she could fathom, it made her feel guilty.

She huffed, taking another drag of her cigarette. "It's not that. I mean, I would like to see something happen to him, but at the same time, I don't."

The blond shook his head. This is exactly why he didn't want to bring any of this up to her. He had plenty of methods for getting Craig Bryant busted, and he sure as hell didn't need Ella's input for anything; he shouldn't have brought it up to her in the first place. She was too soft, too sensitive, and he wasn't used to those feelings, nor did he like dealing with them.

"Yeah, well, I don't care what you want."

Ella glowered. "You don't have to. I do. Just because—"

"Just because nothing," he bit out, clearly agitated. "You know what? Forget it. Just stay the fuck out of it." And before she could utter a response, he knocked the cigarette out of her hand, shaking his head as he watched it distinguish on the gravel. "You look stupid."

The brown-haired teen watched him walk away with a sullen expression, wondering what she could do to stop Dallas from going overboard and possibly getting himself in trouble. She couldn't tell Ponyboy about what was happening, and she couldn't mention it to anyone else, either. Well, she knew one thing about Dallas's plans—whatever they were involved Mr. Davis.

* * *

The rest of the day dragged on, and Ella felt herself becoming more restless as the end of last period grew closer. She had been thinking of Dallas's words all afternoon, and her stomach was twisting up in knots as she wondered what he could possibly have planned that would involve Mr. Davis, and possibly land Craig trouble with the police.

Brushing a hand across her forehead, she stood up as the bell rang, quickly making her way out of the classroom. She still had plans to meet the hood for their Friday afternoon tutoring session, and she wasn't really looking forward to it, not with how their latest encounter had gone.

As the brown-haired girl was walking, something collided into her, sending her into the set of lockers beside her, her bag slipping off her shoulder and causing her to stumble. She looked up, momentarily stunned to see Craig looking back at her with Kevin Rogers beside him, the two of them scowling at her with distaste.

Craig shook his head. "Why don't you watch where you're going?"

"You did that on purpose," Ella fired back, standing up straight and looking him in the eye. "You're a real jerk, Craig."

It was a low and weak insult, she knew, but she didn't care. Every time she looked at her ex-boyfriend, she remembered all the times he had taken her out, had bought her gifts, had held her hand and kissed her cheek, and how he looked at her like she meant something, like she was somebody.

Craig, though, didn't seem to remember any of that, and it hurt Ella to actually know that he had used her outright, had played her into believing every word he'd said to her. Oh, she had been a fool, and as those thoughts plagued her mind, she could feel her blood beginning to boil.

"Yeah, so what?" he replied, wrinkling his nose down at her. "Why don't you run back and cry to your greaser friends?" He gave her another shove back. "You're nothing but trash."

Ella watched him go, trying to ignore the tears welling up in her eyes. No, she wasn't going to cry, she couldn't, because that would mean she had let him get to her, and that Dallas was right. Thing was, he _was_ right about her, because she _did_ care, she cared too much. The realization of that only made her brood more, and then she grew irritated.

The teen was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she didn't even hear Ponyboy Curtis calling out her name until he was right beside her, brows pulled together with concern. As Ella stopped and looked up at him, he realized that she was practically on the verge of tears, although her expression reflected utter frustration, as if she was about to explode in anger.

He considered his words before speaking. "You okay?"

She nodded slow-like. "Yeah, I'm sorry, Ponyboy."

"It's okay," he replied lightly, and changed the topic. "I just wanted to check in with you, you know, see how you were doing."

"That's real kind of you," Ella said, feigning a smile, coming to a stop at her locker. "Ponyboy, can I ask you something?"

"Well, sure."

She licked her lips, grabbing her homework for the weekend. "If you were— I mean, if what happened to me happened to you, would you want revenge?"

The younger teen looked perplexed at the question, wondering where she was going with this. He was unsure of how to answer her, though, so he shrugged, leaning against the locker beside her.

"I don't know," he answered after a minute, voice indifferent. "I would be mad, I guess. Well, I would _definitely_ be mad, but I'm not sure what you're getting at."

Ella didn't miss a beat. "Would you go after the person who attacked you?"

"Gee, I don't know," he admitted. His brothers would be all over it, he knew, were it him, but Ella didn't have any siblings looking out for her like he did, and their cases would be much different either way. "Fighting's no good," he continued, lowering his eyes a little. He remembered Johnny's words that night back in September, followed by Darry's of there being others ways to go about getting revenge.

"You're right," the girl agreed, closing her locker door. And then she sighed, looking up at the younger teen in front of her. "There is something you should know, though, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it sooner, but Dallas knows everything . . . about Craig and—"

"I know," Ponyboy interrupted, and gave her a small smile. "Well, I guessed anyway. I didn't tell him anything you said, though, and I don't plan to."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Thanks a lot, Ponyboy."

The two walked out of the building together, parting ways as Ponyboy headed toward Two-Bit's car and Ella made her way to the T-Bird. That familiar sensation crept up her spine as Dallas eyed her wearily, one brow raising as he turned and climbed into the driver's seat. The girl wasn't far behind him, trying to maintain a collected exterior as she sat beside him.

A few minutes had past as the two rode in silence, and Ella was beginning to grow antsy. She couldn't help the fact that she was already angry, the incident with Craig causing her to feel even worse than she had with Dallas. She kept telling herself that she didn't care about Craig, or what he'd said to her, but deep down, she knew that Dallas was right earlier—she did care.

"Saw you with Ponyboy," Dally commented, putting the car in park once they'd reached their usual spot. "What were y'all talking about?"

Ella shrugged. "Nothing really."

The blond rolled his eyes. "Sounds fascinating."

"I just meant that what we were talking about wouldn't interest the likes of you," she replied, a bite in her tone. "We were actually discussing Craig."

"Well, you're right, sweets," he said, and yawned. "Sounds boring."

The girl nibbled on her bottom lip, wondering how to approach the next topic with the hood beside her, and she felt herself clamming up. She wasn't sure if she was being rational or not, but every time she thought about Craig, she found herself getting angry, and she figured she had a right to.

"You were right before," she blurted out after a minute. When Dallas turned in her direction, a curious look on his face, she continued. "About me. I do care, and I care about a lot of things." Her eyes shifted toward the front of the car. "But I want in on whatever you're planning with Craig, and"—She took a breath, keeping a straight face—"I want to be there when it happens."

Dallas nearly laughed out loud, his lips curving back into a smirk. "No way, girl," he answered, pulling his cigarettes out and lighting one. "That ain't happenin'."

Ella crossed her arms, a frown on her face. "Well, that's fine and dandy, Dallas, but if you choose to not include me, I'll—"

"You'll what?" he pressed, eyes narrowing slightly. "Huh?"

Her eyes met his, and he could tell from her look that she meant business. "I'll go straight to Principal Davis and tell him what you're up to tonight."

"You wouldn't," he responded, but the insecurity that was present across his features told Ella that he wasn't quite sure of that. "You wouldn't unless you wanted everyone to know about Craig."

She raised a brow, studying her fingernails leisurely. "I really don't care anymore." She could hear his voice in her head, calling her trash as he shoved her. "I don't care at all about Craig Bryant, or what happens to him, Winston." She scowled. "Besides, I never said how I would get the message across to Mr. Davis now did I?"

Dallas was silently cursing all the way to the high heavens. He couldn't believe this shit; he was practically being blackmailed by an air-headed dope. Lord, when had everything in the universe been against him at once? This was almost humiliating, to say the least, but still, the hood wasn't without secondary plans, ones which Ella "Dopey" Mitchell would never find out.

He flicked his ashes out the window. "You never know, sweets, ol' Davis was only mentioned. I never said he was actually the target, did I?"

But Ella was smart, too, and she knew Dallas would underestimate her. "I've considered that, and I just figured that if anything happens around town that just so happens to be blamed on Craig, I'll just let it slip that you were out to get him because of George Clayton harassing Ponyboy."

It was all a bluff; she would never rat him out, or anything that happened to Ponyboy, either, but the expression the blond was making was almost comical. She had seen him turn almost blue in the face from being so livid, but now he appeared almost shocked, not to mention, concerned.

Dallas was internally arguing with himself. On one hand, he really didn't want Ella Mitchell to be included in any of the plans, but on the other, he considered letting her tag along. It would either scare her off, or she wouldn't show, and he was willing to bet the former. Once she was surrounded with the likes of Tim Shepard, Dennis Wilde, and Two-Bit Mathews, she would probably run off.

"Alright," he agreed, mentally swearing. "Tell you what, I'll let you come along, but don't say I didn't warn you." He looked her over savagely. "I'll pick you up down the street from your house by Center at one, savvy?"

She looked alarmed. "In the morning?!"

"Gotta problem?"

Ella pursed her lips, a nervous feeling in her gut. "No."

* * *

The afternoon turned into evening, and the evening hours passed, bringing along a cold and chilly night. The streets were quiet and barren, save for a few barking dogs that were roaming around, and a few teens that were passing through the neighborhood. Waiting for one in the morning to come around seemed to take forever, and Ella found herself wondering if this was really such a good idea.

Her mother had noticed her odd behavior when she'd come home from work and asked her if there was something wrong. Ella wanted to tell her everything, but she merely shook her head and said that she was tired, and soon enough, her mother had gone to bed, leaving Ella to fake that she had, too.

The girl had paced around her room a few times, eyes shifting between the clock on the night table and the window beside her bed. There was no way that she would be able to leave the house through the front door—her mother would wake up for sure—so the next option was her bedroom widow, a sight she knew would look ridiculous as soon as she imagined it.

At exactly 12:50, she switched her lights off and slipped out the window, attempting to be as quiet as possible. She was successful, for the most part, until she dropped down and stumbled back a little, her hair getting caught in the bushes that surrounded the perimeter. Grounding her teeth together, she tugged her hair free, rubbing her head from the pull.

Ella squeezed her jacket tightly around herself as she began the walk toward Center Street, hoping that Dallas didn't stand her up again like he'd done the first time he ever promised to meet her for the tutoring—she would just about die if he pulled that trick on her again.

She was shivering by the time she reached Center, her heart nearly pounding in her chest as she fingered the jewel in her jacket pocket. Golly, but it sure was cold, and Ella suddenly wished she had never agreed to this. Still, she felt as if she wanted to prove something to Dallas, and if she decided to back out now, he would call her bluff for sure. Well, she reasoned with herself, it's not like he wanted her tagging along in the first place, but getting back at Craig was almost important to her, or so she had lied to herself.

The sound of a car rounding the corner alerted the girl of Dallas's arrival, and she nearly felt her heart plummet into her stomach as she realized she was really going through with this, and she almost felt a bit excited for a second, although that feeling was immediately washed away when she noticed that the car that had pulled up beside her wasn't the T-Bird.

A worried look adorned her face for a second until the passenger side window rolled down and Dallas eyed her coolly. "So you came," he remarked, and then he gave her a rugged grin. "You gonna get in or stand there and freeze to death?"

She could hear chuckling coming from inside the car, and she swallowed the forming lump in her throat before opening the back door and climbing in beside two other boys, one with rusty-red hair that she'd seen with both Dallas and Ponyboy, and another with dark greased-back hair. The car smelled strongly of smoke, booze, and . . . _boys_ , and Ella suddenly found herself extremely uncomfortable.

"So you're the infamous tutor, huh," the red-head said, grinning at her once she was situated, the car pulling away from the curb. "I'm Two-Bit Mathews, reckon you've heard of me."

She nodded, folding her hands together wearily. "Yes, I have."

"She's heard of you, Mathews," the darker-haired greaser said, and smirked. "How about me, sugar, huh? You—"

"She ain't heard of ya, Wilde," the driver interrupted, shaking his head. "Shut yer trap."

Two-Bit laughed, tossing his arms up around the back seat. He looked back at Ella, before nodding in the direction of the boy called Wilde. "That there is Dennis Wilde, and the ugly fellow driving is Tim Shepard."

Ella felt like her heart almost stopped. Tim Shepard, _the_ Tim Shepard? She couldn't believe that she was in a car with both Dallas Winston and Tim Shepard, and she wished that she had never asked to come along, that she was back at home, safe inside her house. These weren't the type of people she usually surrounded herself with—they were dangerous, the real hoods in town. Yeah, Tim Shepard was a name she had definitely heard of.

Tim glanced at the girl through the rear view mirror. "So's your name is Ella, is it? Ella Mitchell?" He watched her nod, cheeks flushing in the dark. "How is it that you're tutoring Dally?"

"With a lot of patience," she practically whispered, eyes shifting to the floor, ignoring the snorts from both Two-Bit and Dennis.

She didn't notice the grim smirk on Dallas's lips.

* * *

Ella had followed behind the boys as they walked about a block and a half to Mr. Davis's house, carrying a few items like cartons of eggs, cans of spray paint, and a switchblade that Two-Bit kept dangling around in his hand that she knew was for slashing tires. The neighborhood was quiet, the air almost still, and Ella stayed quiet in the background while the boys trashed the high school principal's property and car.

In all honesty, she felt sick watching them do it, and after a minute of twirling Craig's ring between her fingers, she began to second-guess herself with what she had been planning to do. She didn't belong there with those boys, she belonged at home, and she regretted ever asking to come with.

"Hey, sweets," Dallas called in a low voice, moving toward her, and before she knew it, he placed an egg in her hand, an impish look on his face. "Have at it."

She eyed the egg, before shaking her head. "No."

The blond raised an eyebrow. "No? But I thought you wanted in on this." He took a step closer, getting close to her ear, his breath making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "You wanted to be included, didn't you?" If not for the cold causing her to feel numb, she would have sworn that she felt the hood's lips brush her skin. "What's the matter? Don't like running with the bad boys?"

"Mr. Davis didn't do any—"

"But he did," Dallas pointed out before she could finish. "He assigned you my tutor through George, he suspended Ponyboy, and you know he'd never believe—"

"Okay!" she hissed, the aggravation she felt earlier rising once again. She handed the egg back to him, looking up to stare him directly in the eyes. "But I'm not vandalizing his property." And before he could say anything, she thrust Craig's ring into his free hand. "Make sure he finds this, though."

With that, she turned on her heel and headed back to the car, head down and eyes becoming glassy with tears that wouldn't fall.

 _I want to run with the bad boys_

 _I want to run with the bad boys_

* * *

 **Nothing good can happen with Dallas, Tim, and Two-Bit running the streets together, can it?  
**

 **Reviews are always appreciated! :3**


	33. Not Your Best

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Crossfade owns "Colors."**

* * *

 _There's no running away from these things that hold you down_

 _Do they complicate you because they make you feel like this?_

 **February 16, 1966**

"You wanna know what really throws me for a loop?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "What?"

Two-Bit glanced over at him, tapping his pencil against his notebook. "Why there's gotta be such a thing as homework. Who the hell would ever think of that anyway?"

"Who knows," the dark-haired teen said with a shrug. "'Sides, I thought you were enjoying all these passing grades and whatnot."

"That was before I realized I couldn't balance two things." He grinned. "I need to get myself a social life again. I miss the old days."

Steve dropped his finished cigarette on the gravel, folding his arms across his chest. Sometimes, he just didn't understand Two-Bit at all. He'd never bothered to mention that he was proud of his buddy, or that he was glad he had decided to shape up, but one minute, Two-Bit was conveying his enthusiasm over his grades, and then he went back to complaining about having to do the _work_. The younger greaser couldn't fathom why he couldn't have both a social life and maintain decent grades. He did.

He shook his head, kicking his feet out and crossing his ankles as he leaned back against his car. "Well, you'll just have to figure out a way to do both."

"Like you don't?"

Steve glared. "Like hell I don't. I attend school, pass my classes, I work, I've got a girl, I—"

"Okay, Mr. Organized," Two-Bit interrupted, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Glory, one might think you're a—"

"Don't even finish that sentence, Mathews," Steve snapped, giving him a bitter stare. If Two-Bit even considered on comparing him to a Soc, he'd knock him out cold. His thoughts, however, were quickly dismissed when he noticed Dallas walking in their direction, a bored expression on his face.

"What's goin' on, Dal?" Two-Bit asked, tossing his notebook aside. "Where's Ponyboy?"

The towheaded teen shrugged, stealing Steve's bag of chips. "He's in the library with Dopey."

Steve's lips pulled into a thin line. "He's been spendin' an awful 'lotta time with that girl."

And that was true, Dallas noted, but for some reason, the thought didn't unsettle him. He was still a bit wary of Ella Mitchell, mainly because of Craig Bryant, but ever since last Friday night when she'd given him Bryant's senior ring to use as evidence in their little scam, his suspicions had somewhat dissolved. He didn't like her, but he didn't exactly loathe her anymore, either. Still, the girl had proven her loyalty twice now, and that was good enough for him . . . for the time being.

The hood remembered that evening with a grim smirk; the image of Ella climbing into the back of Tim Shepard's car, right behind him, was enough to make anyone laugh. The story about Principal Davis's vandalized property was out the following day, and then of course, everyone made a big stink about it Monday morning. Craig hadn't been in school Monday, but he'd returned Tuesday, and not one word was mentioned about him, and Dallas, much like Ella, assumed it was because his parents made sure to have everything hushed up.

Dallas thought the entire thing was quite hysterical—Craig couldn't even bring himself to look at Ponyboy or Ella, and when he'd encountered Dallas himself, all he could manage was a scowl, which told the hood that he was, in fact, found guilty. Besides, his senior ring was back on his finger, and when Dallas noticed it, he merely gave the other teen a wicked smile, one which resembled an animalistic snarl.

Craig knew the score, though, as the hood's shit-eating grin said it all. If he opened his mouth and told the truth, everyone would know what had happened with George, Ponyboy, and Ella. It was a silent and mutual understanding, and Craig knew better than to tangle with Dallas Winston . . . again.

"Well," Two-Bit said, finishing off the last of his Pepsi, "Ella's an alright girl. She's kind of like Ponyboy, I guess, might do him some good to talk to a gal."

Steve hummed. "He's got other friends, too."

Dallas eyed Steve for a second, but brushed his comment aside. Sure, Ponyboy had other friends, but he had to agree with Two-Bit. Ella and him were . . . somewhat similar. He'd trusted the girl to get the kid to open up and admit the truth about George Clayton, and she'd done it. The two seemed to hit it off, or so it seemed, and as long as Ponyboy didn't have a problem with her, he figured she was alright.

That didn't mean _he_ had to treat her decently, though.

* * *

Ponyboy liked talking to Ella. She was straightforward and understanding, and she never tried to conceal what she was really feeling. He considered her somewhat of a friend, not that they were real close or anything, but he liked to think of them as such. Besides, she was a decent girl overall and the two of them had a good amount in common.

His eyes shifted toward the clock as he closed up his geometry textbook. The bell would be ringing soon, he thought dully, and then sighed.

Ella glanced up from the book she was reading, noticing the other teen's anxious expression, and raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

Ponyboy nodded, his lips thinning. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she answered, and placed her book in her bag, giving the boy her full attention. She watched him for a moment, wondering why he looked so bothered suddenly.

The younger teen wasn't quite sure why he decided to bring this topic up to Ella, but he figured that she was an outsider in all of this, so hearing her opinion might be helpful. He'd been trying to come up with a plausible solution for his situation with Mr. Franklin, but he seemed to get stuck each way he went. It bugged him that he would have to tell everyone about his theme before the publication, instead of surprising them like he originally wanted to do.

He didn't want to lie to the man, either, so there had to be a better way to go about the issue.

He glanced back over at the girl across from himself. "If someone wrote a book, and say, one of the characters was . . . based off of you, or maybe it was you, would you want them to tell you before they went along and published it?"

"Yes," Ella answered truthfully, not even thinking about it. "I think I would want to know."

Ponyboy leaned back in the chair, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I reckon most people would like to know, too."

Ella noticed the flat tone of his voice and felt a little concerned. "Why do you ask?"

A shrug. "Well, it's complicated, but—" He paused, looking at the older girl for a moment. He wasn't so sure he wanted to tell her about his semester theme, but for a split second, he felt like he could trust her; it wasn't like she would run off and yell the information to the entire school. "I wrote about the events that happened back in September, you know, with Dally and all . . . My English teacher told me to write a theme for the first semester in order to raise my grade, and that's what I came up with."

The brown-haired girl looked intrigued. "Well, that's something, I'll say."

"Yeah," he continued. "But that ain't the half of it. See, after my teacher read it, he suggested that I consider having it published, so I went along and looked for publishers without telling anyone what I was doing." He flushed a little. "Well, turns out that one of them took a real liking to it, and well, I'm officially on my way to an actual publication."

Ella's jaw practically fell open, eyes bright in astonishment. "My gosh, Ponyboy! That's really quite an accomplishment! Congratulations!"

"Thanks," he replied, and smiled a little. "But the problem is that my publisher says we can't move along until I can provide him with a letter of consent from each person I wrote about in the story." He could feel his cheeks heating up. "I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone, so I thought about asking Mr. Franklin, my publisher, if only one copy of my book could be printed up so that way everyone could get a feel of it and make their own decision for themselves, instead of me asking them if I could simply use their names in a story."

Ella nodded along thoughtfully. "I think you should definitely discuss your feelings with your publisher, Ponyboy. I wouldn't see a problem with one . . . _proof_ copy of your book being published, and then letting everyone mentioned taking a look at it." She grinned. "I'd say to go for it. Heck, if it were me, I would, and I'm sure those you included would be awfully excited to see what you've done."

"Yeah," he replied, and feigned a small smile. Everyone _would_ be excited, wouldn't they?

. . . Everyone except for Dally.

* * *

Soda slammed the phone down with a scoff. That was the third job that had denied him work, and he was growing awfully upset. Every time he called to check on the status of his applications, he was given the same message back repetitively—the position he applied for had been filled, the store was no longer hiring—and he wondered if it had to do with his social status, or because of what happened last September.

Rubbing his hands over his face, the golden-haired teen stood up, only to turn with a jerk and slam his fists against the wall in Benny's office. A low grow escaped his lips as his knuckles collided into it again, the adrenaline pumping hot beneath his skin. He was angry, and he figured he had a right to be, especially with everything that had taken place.

Of course, he wasn't blaming Ponyboy for anything, but some part of him couldn't help but think that Ponyboy's involvement with that Soc boy's murder had smeared their name and was currently preventing him from getting another job.

Glory, he thought with a sigh, flopping back down in the chair. Usually, he didn't get frustrated like this, but with Darry still trying to catch up on the bills, the social worker breathing down their necks, and barely any income coming in, he was worried. His mind raced with thoughts of what would happen if Darry and him fell more behind, and his chest tightened up.

Darry was already working two jobs as it was, and he was still looking for a third. Soda couldn't let his older brother work himself gray, so he figured he would find another job, no matter how small or how little it paid, to help out more. They hadn't mentioned anything to Ponyboy—Darry's main concern was to make sure their kid brother's concentration and focus remained on his school work.

Soda sighed, pursing his lips as he thought about his kid brother. Ponyboy . . . he was going places, that he knew, he was certain of it. He and Darry were going to make sure he got out of that sleazy town and make something of himself, no matter what. Golly, but he was sure proud of that kid. If only Ponyboy knew how proud he and Darry were.

"Soda?" Benny called, poking his head in his office. "You breakin'?"

The teen nodded, eyes shifting toward the clock. "Yeah, I've got a few minutes left. You need somethin'?"

His boss shrugged. "Yeah, actually." Stepping inside the room, he closed the door behind himself, before leaning back against it, arms crossed. "Look, kid, I know it ain't none of my business, but the other day I saw Randle handin' off his paycheck to ya, and—"

"Oh, shoot," Soda said, and sat up straighter in the chair. "That wasn't nothin.' Me an' Steve made a bet about something a while back, and well . . ." He shrugged his shoulders, feeling his face heating up a little. He really didn't want to discuss this topic with Benny, even if he thought he was a cool ol' guy. It just didn't feel right to him, and besides, he didn't want anyone thinking he was a charity case.

He kept telling himself that Steve was only paying back what he thought he owed, but in Soda's eyes, his best buddy didn't owe him or his family squat. Steve was a proud guy, though, and Soda knew that he was only trying to help out, without directly involving himself in their family's financial dilemma.

Benny, however, didn't look the least bit convinced at Soda's explanation, but he changed the topic, not missing a beat. "You know, Giberson's Auto is lookin' for help. Might wanna consider lookin' into it, huh?"

Soda cleared his throat, ears turning red. "Gee, Benny, that's generous of you to suggest, but I'm real happy working here."

"I didn't mean you had to quit, Curtis," Benny replied, and raised a dark brow. "I'm just suggesting another opportunity for you." He sighed, shifting his weight. "I get it, kid, believe me. I've been there." He offered the teen a small smile, the lines on his face becoming more prominent. "The owner and I go way back, name's Stew. I could put in a good word for you if you're interested. Just let me know."

Soda considered the idea for a moment. Another job meant more money, and more money meant that Darry wouldn't be searching for job number three, and their bills would be covered. Giberson's was on the other side of town, though, in Soc territory. Soda wasn't too fond of that idea, but if Benny could help get him a job—one that he desperately needed—wouldn't it be worth it?

He licked his lips, and then nodded. "I think I might just take you up on that offer . . ."

* * *

"Hey, Ella," Cherry Valance greeted, flashing a smile at the girl.

Ella turned to face the red-head, closing her locker door. "Cherry, hi!" Adjusting her bag, the two fell in step as they headed out of the high school. "How are you?"

"Good," she replied. "I actually wanted to see how you were doing." The pair came to a stop just outside of the main doors, and Cherry gave Ella a knowing look. "I don't mean to bring it up or pry, but are you alright? I heard the rumors—"

"I'm fine," Ella answered abruptly, and then frowned. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come off like that. I know you mean well." A sigh. "Truthfully, I'm still getting over the issue."

Cherry nodded along, wishing she hadn't mentioned the incident at all. Honestly, she didn't mean to upset Ella, but she understood all the same. She had heard the rumors about Ella getting jumped a few weeks back, only one week after George Clayton was attacked. She had a sneaking suspicion of who the culprit was, but in Ella's case, she could only reach a blank.

Still, she found it awfully peculiar that all of these events, including the circulating gossip concerning Mr. Davis's property getting vandalized over the weekend, had happened within weeks of each other, and she had a feeling that, since Ella and Craig were no longer a couple, it had something to do with the issue regarding George and Ponyboy.

Ella, noticing the look in the girl's green orbs, spoke up. "I don't know who it was."

"It wasn't . . . George?" Cherry asked, looking closely at her. She mentally kicked herself. "I'm sorry, Ella. I said I didn't mean to pry and I'm doing just that."

Ella waved her off. "It's alright. I just don't really remember what happened, and truthfully, I'm trying to forget about it."

Nodding, the other girl tucked her hair behind her ear. "And Ponyboy? Is he okay?"

Ella remembered her conversation that took place that afternoon with the younger teen and grinned. "I would say so."

"Good," Cherry replied, and then shifted on her feet, eyes scanning the lot. "Well, I'm glad you're both alright." A smile. "I'll see you around, Ella!"

The two parted ways, Cherry heading in the direction of her friends, and Ella leisurely walking over to the T-Bird. She glanced around the parking lot for Dallas, not surprised that he wasn't around. She knew he would arrive soon, and some part of her was both anxious and dreadful of that fact, though she wasn't sure why. Being around Dallas was beginning to make her feel uneasy, more so than it ever had, and she briefly considered canceling their tutoring session that afternoon.

"Hey, sweets."

Ella practically jerked around, a startled expression on her face. She stared back at Dallas, wondering if she was really that absorbed in her own thoughts that she hadn't even noticed him walking over to her until he was right there beside her. Well, so much for the cancellation, she deadpanned. Damn.

"Dallas," she muttered, pushing herself away from the hood of the car. She didn't spare him another glance as she maneuvered her way to the passenger side door, and not even when she was situated inside did she offer him any form of acknowledgment.

Their rides together were always silent, something that Ella took pleasure in, but on this particular day, she couldn't seem to find any sort of comfort in it. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage, and her chest was tightening up. She wanted to get out of that car, no, she _needed_ to, and just before she felt like she would actually faint did the blond start speaking.

"What's up with you and Ponyboy?"

That struck the girl straight back into reality. "I'm sorry?"

Dallas rolled his eyes, stopping the car and cutting the engine. "Y'all have been spendin' a whole 'lotta time together, don't you think?"

"Oh," she said quietly, gaze drifting to her lap. "I suppose we just enjoy each others company. Does it bother you?"

His jaw clenched for a second. "I really don't give a shit."

"Oh."

Dallas stared at his tutor for a moment, the flush in her cheeks not going unnoticed. He knew there was something off about her—they had spent enough time around each other that he was able to decipher her moods by her expressions. He really didn't care about her issues, never did, but he didn't enjoy her silence, either.

"What's up with you?" he asked, digging around his pockets for a cigarette. He ground his teeth when he realized he was out, and faced the girl beside him almost expectantly. "Got a cancer stick?"

Ella pulled her pack from her bag, handing it over to the blond. She watched from her peripheral as he lit up, quietly swearing that it wasn't a Kool, and rolled the window down. She bit her lip, shifting in the seat a little, and began pulling some of her books out of her bag.

"Nothing's up," she answered, which came out more as a mumble. She handed him her English book carefully, making sure their hands didn't brush.

Dallas was never one for drama or beating around the bush. He was always straight to the point and firm, like the guys, but girls, man, fuck they were so overly dramatic. Fuckin' Sylvia was like that, and her mood swings were enough to drive him up a damn wall. Ella, though, she was something else, more like a piece of work—not particularly dramatic, but prone to dragging things along and never getting directly to the point.

"Yeah, right," he said, eyeing her English book. "I thought you said we was going over math or some shit today, girl."

Ella's eyes bulged, and she suddenly felt flustered. "Oh. Sorry."

She remembered discussing mathematics, or was it science? It didn't matter, she supposed, but she did remember discussing something with the hood Monday afternoon. He'd mentioned that his math teacher was riding his ass over a lousy quiz grade or something, but she couldn't quite remember. Still, with a faint blush, she tossed him the geometry book.

Meanwhile, Dallas was looking at the girl like she'd grown two heads. "I can't believe this," he said, his tone mocking. "You, unorganized? Holy shit." He couldn't believe it, not really. Ella, as far as he knew, was always on top of the game, never forgetful. This was all new to him, and he found that he was enjoying her slip-ups.

"Yeah, well, excuse me," she bit out, clearly upset. She crossed her arms over her chest, pink cheeks beginning to fade as a frown curved her lips.

"You're excused," came the response, causing the girl to purse her lips to avoid a rash comeback at the hood's childish behavior. He continued. "So, where exactly am I starting?"

Ella shrugged. "Wherever you left off in class."

"Something about planes and coordinates, or some stupid shit," he answered, taking a drag of his cigarette. Glory, he sure sounded like a fucking idiot talking about this garbage. He really couldn't wait for the school year to be over with—three and a half more months to go.

"Well, there you go. Find it in the book and start a lesson."

Dallas's eyes narrowed at the girl's brash tone, and he gave her a cool look. "Look, if you're gonna be a fucking bitch, you can get the hell outta here. I don't need your shit." When she didn't answer, only responding with a scoff, he tossed the book back in her direction, watching as it accidentally cracked her in the arm and landed in her lap with a _thump._

Ella's face immediately reflected shock, and she jerked around, eyes blazing with hell's fire. "I'm real sick and tired of you thinking you can just call me names, Winston! And I'm really sick of you putting me down all the time while taking your problems out on me!" And without thinking, she grabbed the textbook and threw it back at him, not caring where it hit or landed. She was angry, hurt, and terribly annoyed, and not just with Dallas, but with herself, too.

She wasn't sure why she was acting so immature, or why she was really this upset. She felt like a child throwing a temper tantrum, and deep down, she knew she was the one in the wrong this time. Still, those realizations were buried too deep beneath her other emotions, and she lashed out further at the hood beside her, almost relishing in the fact that she was getting one out of him for once.

Dallas, on the other hand, didn't have a chance to react quickly enough as Ella practically lunged across the seat at him, one hand raised and ready to strike.

"Jesus Christ!" he spit, ducking away from her oncoming blows and trying to grab her flailing arms. She was attempting to slap him in the face, or punch him, her fingers curling as her hand formed a fist, the other one trying to grab his hair.

To anyone else, the scene would have seemed drastically wrong, but those concerns were the least of Ella's worries as she maneuvered herself across the seat, moving up on her knees to get a better aim at the blond.

Dallas didn't want to hit the girl—that was one rule he decided to play by. Oh, he'd seen plenty of guys beating on their girls before, his own parents perfect candidates for a boxing match. He'd be damned if he physically hurt a girl, though, but, _fuck_ , Ella coming at him the way she was just then was wearing any sort of patience and control he had very thin, so he did the only thing he could.

Ella wasn't expecting to be thrown backward into the passenger side of the vehicle, half her body landing on the floor. Before she could jump back up at Winston, their eyes met, and in that split second, she saw something that terribly unnerved her, something that she couldn't quite understand, and some part of her didn't want to.

There, lurking in the hardness of Dallas's face, was a bitter form of anticipation and expectancy, as if he was used to being attacked like this, though not from people like her. Something in her gut twisted, and she immediately backed away, her breathing uneven, as she realized what she'd done. Dallas's expression was still haunting her, and it made her feel sick.

How does one become accustomed to that? Being beat or hurt so much that they've developed the look of innate expectancy? It didn't make sense to her, but she didn't want to understand that because she was terrified of learning, terrified that whatever look she had seen on Dallas Winston's face was the thing that made him what he was.

Ella barely registered the sound of the door slamming shut, and then the jolt of Dallas giving one good, solid kick to the car's exterior. She shook a little, keeping her head down as the towheaded teen took his anger out for the next several seconds.

Another minute or so later, he was back in the car beside her, a viscous look on his face. "We're done with this, you an' me. Hear me?"

Ella was about to protest, but with one look at him, she merely nodded. He was unforgiving, a burning danger pooling around his orbs.

They were officially done.

 _Of all the colors that you've shined this is surely not your best_

 _But you should know these colors that you're shining are . . ._

* * *

 **Oh, Ella . . .  
**

 **Thank you so much for all of the reviews and feedback on this story! It's so very much appreciated! :3**


	34. Changed Around

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Alexa Vega owns "The Way It's Gonna Be."**

* * *

 _No one said it would be easy_

 _You once could call this place your own_

 _It took a single day_

 _It seems like your whole life has changed around_

 **February 25, 1966**

Dallas woke to the feeling of someone shifting around beside him. Lifting his head from the pillow, he blinked a few times to adjust his vision until he was able to see clearly. A head of mahogany hair falling in knotted curls was in his view, cascading down a slim and very naked back. The blond smirked a bit, remembering his night with Cherie Peters, the broad who had been chasing him down for the last few weeks.

Cherie was a real ditzy girl, but he didn't mind. She was good looking, had a decent personality, and put out like there was no tomorrow. And the best thing about her was that she could fuck real good, and she didn't mind when or where it was, either. She was wild like that. Dallas remembered meeting her for the first time a few months ago when she'd left her purse inside by the bar. Glory, if he had known what kind of broad she was then he wouldn't have given her such a rough time.

Cherie turned back to face him, impish blue eyes bright. "Glory, you oughtta cut that hair or something, sugar. It's as wild as an untamed field of weeds."

And that was the worst thing about her―she didn't know when or how to keep her fucking mouth shut, and that pissed the hood off.

Tossing the covers off of himself, he reached for his clothes, shoving a cigarette between his lips with a scowl. "Yeah? Anybody ever tell you what the fuck you look like in the morning, or are they already gone by the time yer ass wakes up?"

Cherie frowned. "Don't go gettin' like that, all sour an' all." She started pulling her clothes on as he walked into the bathroom, the cigarette now firmly secured behind his ear. "Your hair looks fine."

The blond shook his head. Cherie was alright, but she was a pain in the ass, and she whined a lot, too, which annoyed him to no end. Still, she _could_ be good company . . . when she wasn't busy getting high or so drunk that she couldn't stand straight. Cherie took things to a different level when it came to getting high, though―she did the hard stuff, the shit Dallas wouldn't even touch with a ten foot pole. Oh, he'd had his fair share of seeing what that garbage could do to guys back in New York, and he wasn't going to end up like that, like . . . like his old man.

He didn't care what Cherie did. She was nineteen, a high school dropout, and a drug-addict who made her dough by dealing. He had to hand it to her, though―she was a tough one, but what she had in strength and looks, she lacked in smarts.

"You leavin'?" she asked with a pout, watching as he shrugged on his jean jacket.

He glanced at her, a brooding look in his eyes. "Yeah, and so are you."

Cherie looked bummed at that, but followed him out the door. "Dally?" She bit her lip, kicking her boot up against the wall. "You ever gonna ask me to be yer girl?"

The towheaded teen froze, face turning grim. "What the fuck?"

"Well?" she pressed. "Come on, Dally. I like you, you like me, right? We've spent almost every night together this week, don't you want me to be yer girl?"

Dallas rolled his eyes. Jesus Christ, but she was dense. "Listen here, girl. I ain't lookin' for any sort of commitment, alright? Look, you're . . . good-looking an' all, but just because I fuck you whenever you offer it up don't mean I want to go steady, savvy?"

The girl looked hurt at the crude remark and the hardness in his voice. "So, that's it? Yer just gonna go and ditch me like that?"

"I got places to be," he called back, already halfway down the stairs, not caring to divulge that Will Rogers High School was the place he was headed to. He could hear Cherie screeching out his name from behind, and with a look that would make the devil cringe, he jerked around, one second away from telling her off.

"Wait," she said, before he could open his mouth. "If you don't want to be with me like that, can we still get together?" Another pout. "Tonight?"

Eyeing her coolly for a second, he turned and climbed into the T-Bird. "Whatever you say." The engine roared to life as he turned the key. "Find me at the bowling alley downtown tonight around eight."

And with that, he sped out of the parking lot, not caring if she bothered to show up that night or not.

* * *

"You did _what?_ " Darry's tone was sharp, his eyes fixed on his younger brother. "Are you out of your mind, Soda?"

The golden-haired teen merely stared at his shoes. "I had to, Darry. Don't you get it? I―"

His hand came down hard on the kitchen counter as he turned to face the window. "Yeah, I get it, Soda, but that doesn't mean you can just get hired at another job without telling me about it. Really, what on God's green earth were you thinking?"

Soda shrugged, moving to sit at the table, his countenance lethargic. This wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his afternoon―arguing with Darry. He had a feeling his older brother would have a cow once he realized that he had gone to that interview at Giberson's Auto and had gotten hired right after. He'd come home before lunch, since he wasn't working that afternoon, only to run into Darry, whose shift at the repair store didn't start until one.

The two were momentarily stunned to see each other at the house, since it was usually vacant until Ponyboy got home from school. Well, both Soda and Darry knew of one other occupant who had been sneaking in every other week to do his laundry―Dallas Winston. Darry had been the one to figure it out, though, going on about how _somebody_ was messing with the settings on the washer, and how the detergent was miraculously disappearing in small increments.

Darry was always on board with things like that, and everyone knew that Two-Bit was too lazy to even find a clean shirt half the time, never mind actually wash his clothes, and Steve, well, Steve would _ask_ to use the washer if he needed to, so that only left one person. Funny, Soda would expect Dally to cover his tracks. Who the hell knew that forgetting to switch the settings on a washing machine would ever give him away?

Soda folded his hands together on the table. "Well, I can't keep accepting Steve's paycheck, Darry. He works to make that money, he earns it, man, and we can't keep letting him give it to us."

Darry sighed, turning back around to face his brother. "I told you to quit taking it, Soda!" Running a hand through his dark hair, the older boy gazed at the floor. "Look, I don't know what we're gonna do, but I can't have you busting your ass, too. Not like this."

"Dammit, Darry!" the teen barked, jumping to his feet. "When are you gonna get it through your head, huh?" His brown eyes were blazing with fury. "I ain't gonna let you work yourself gray before you turn thirty!" Out of frustration, he swatted a bowl off the table, hearing the sound of it landing in the living room a second later. "You're always going on that _you_ gotta do this and that, and well, I'm sick of it. I know I've got a full-time job at the DX, but with you only working two part-time jobs and making less income, we're gonna end up on the street if I don't take this opportunity." A brief silence fell across the room before he continued. "I'm already hired."

"It's on the other side of town, though, Soda," Darry pointed out, at loss for an argument. "Is that really such a good idea?"

"It's the only chance I've got, and I'm taking it."

Darry eyed his brother for a moment longer, knowing that the discussion was over. Soda was seventeen years old, he wasn't a child anymore, hadn't been in a while. He was going to do whatever he wanted to, and it wasn't Darry's place to intervene.

A sigh. "And when do you start?"

"Tomorrow. I'll be working weekends part-time, and Benny is keeping me on full-time at the DX," he answered in a calmer voice, sitting back down.

Darry nodded, moving away from the counter and reaching for his jacket and keys. "I suggest you wait until later tonight or this weekend to tell Ponyboy about this."

"Yeah," Soda agreed, resting his chin in his hand. "Are you coming with us to the bowling alley tonight?"

The older boy shook his head. "I'm gonna swing by the gym for a while."

A grin. "What, thinking that you're losing some muscle or something?"

Darry chuckled at the remark. "Keep that talk up and you'll see just how much I haven't lost, kid brother."

As Soda watched him walk out the door, he contemplated what he would say to Ponyboy later that night, knowing fully well that Darry wasn't going to the gym just to work on gaining his muscle back.

Sometimes, Soda wished he had an outlet, too.

* * *

"Well?" Ella asked, raising a curious brow.

Ponyboy shrugged a little. "He said that he would run it by the company, but he wasn't sure they would approve it or not. He said he'll try his best, though."

"That's good news," the girl replied as the two headed out of the building.

The younger teen merely sighed, neither happy or unhappy with the situation. He liked Dale Franklin enough, trusted him, too. He seemed very eager to help him in any way that he could, and to top it off, he was a huge fan of his upcoming book―even told him that it was going through the editing process at the present moment. There was still a lot that they would need to do, but Ponyboy was ready for whatever was going to come, and he couldn't wait to tell his brothers once everything was completed.

Speaking of which, Ponyboy's eyes shifted in the direction of his accompanier. He'd asked Ella during lunch Wednesday if she would like to go with him to visit Mr. Franklin Friday afternoon, even though it involved missing their afternoon classes. He wasn't sure why he'd asked at first, but he and Ella had gotten rather friendly over the past few weeks, and she was the only one who knew about his upcoming book. Surprisingly, she had agreed to come along, even suggesting that she drive him there so they didn't have to take the bus.

"I guess so," he agreed after a moment, lighting up a cigarette. "Thanks for taking me."

Ella offered him a small smile. "Of course."

The two climbed inside Mrs. Mitchell's car, Ella rolling the windows down as she pulled her pack of cigarettes out of her bag, casually lighting up and leaning back in the seat. Ponyboy was silent beside her, wondering if he ought to ask her to come bowling with him and the guys that night. He was sure that Soda would be looking for a pretty girl to get together with, and Steve and Evie were coming together, which left Dallas and Two-Bit as his only potential company.

Pony sighed, wishing that Johnny was around―they always buddied around together, sometimes being so quiet that the others forgot they were even there. The teen missed those days, wished more than anything that he could just live one more moment of them, but like Darry told him a while back, you can't keep dwelling in the past.

As Ella pulled onto the highway, he decided to break the ice. "You busy tonight?"

She shook her head. "No, why?"

"Well," he said, looking down at his shoes, "would you want to come to the bowling alley around eight or so? Some of the guys are going, and―"

"Will Dallas be there?" came the immediate inquiry, and he didn't miss the frown that crossed her lips.

"I'm not sure," he lied, knowing fully well that Dallas had agreed to go. He knew that something had happened between them, but when he'd asked both of them―at separate times―they'd both given him a look that told him never to bring it up again. Whatever it was, though, he knew that Ella wanted nothing to do with Dallas, and Dallas . . . well, he couldn't even contain the scowl that would form on his face whenever the girl's name was mentioned.

Ella pursed her lips. "I suppose I'll join y'all, but if I see that white-haired devil―"

"You can leave," Ponyboy finished, and gave her a slight grin. "If he does show up and it makes you uncomfortable, well―"

"Thanks," she responded, and sighed. "I know he's your friend, Ponyboy, and I really don't want to be in the middle of a conflict."

He nodded a bit. "Don't worry about it none."

Ella chuckled, pushing her hair out of her face as she drove. "Well, I can't say that I'll be much fun, but I'll be there."

"Tuff enough," he replied, and silently hoped for a decent night for once.

* * *

Dallas hadn't stepped foot inside the Curtis's house with everyone there all at once in ages. It felt weird to him, off somehow, and a cold sensation crept up his spine, causing him to cringe. He knew the reason why he was feeling like this―Johnny. He was missing. The blond could hear the laughter of Two-Bit and Soda coming from the living room, could hear Ponyboy calling them clowns and telling them to shut their traps so he could finish his English essay.

The hood frowned, picturing a small, dark-haired boy with eyes that were too big for his face sitting quietly on the couch, those dark and wild orbs darting around the room as he watched the commotion taking place around himself. Dally scowled deeply, wishing that Johnny Cade would stop popping up in his mind like that, and mentally cursed the little punk.

He licked his lips once, jamming his fists inside his pockets as he headed to the porch, almost deciding to change his mind and tell the boys that he'd meet them downtown later. Still, even though he was internally arguing with himself, he didn't bother to stop his feet from bringing him to the front door, lips curved down. Swinging the screen back on its hinges, the towheaded teen pushed the front door open and swaggered inside, taking in the sight before himself.

Two-Bit and Soda were wrestling on the floor, the older teen's arms holding the other boy in a loose headlock, using his free hand to rub his knuckles over his greasy hair.

"Say uncle!" he laughed, messing his golden hair up further.

Soda gritted his teeth, maneuvering the lower half of his body to squirm away from the older teen, lips curled back, eyes squeezed into slits. "Hell no!"

Dallas shook his head, eyes raising to find the youngest Curtis seated at the kitchen table, a literature book opened in front of him along with a notebook, which he was using to scribble some words down on a half written piece of paper. He looked around the room for the oldest brother, craning his neck a little as he listened for the sound of the shower.

Soda and Two-Bit continued to wrestle each other like immature children on the floor while Dallas casually stepped over them, shaking his head at the scene. He stood at the entrance of the kitchen for a moment, watching the kid work on his homework―he appeared so focused on it that Dally was unsure if he'd even heard him enter the house.

For a minute, he felt invisible, as if no one even recognized his very presence. The thought caused him to sneer, nostrils flaring as his fists clenched inside his pockets. Glory, but things sure felt different, and the blond suddenly wished he'd stopped himself before waltzing in like nothing had changed at all, like everything would be the same as it had been last year.

"Dally?" Ponyboy's voice pulled him back to reality, and he glanced up, a cool expression on his face to conceal his previous thoughts.

"What's going on, kid?" he asked, forcing himself to walk further inside the kitchen. It smelled of chicken and something else, as if the family had eaten dinner not too long ago. Dallas's eyes shifted around the room, noticing how different it looked compared to daytime.

Ponyboy shrugged, watching the older teen with caution. "Nothing, really. Just finishing up my English homework."

 _'Course you are,_ he wanted to say, but thought better of it, reaching for a beer in the fridge. "Where's the big man?"

The sound of his books closing echoed about the small kitchen as the younger boy stood up, sliding his chair in. "Went to the gym earlier this evening."

At that precise moment, Two-Bit and Soda came lopping inside, the former merely stepping around the blond as he, too, grabbed a beer. Soda, on the other hand, looked once at Dallas and nodded, a small smile on his lips.

"So, when are we gettin' the hell outta here?" Two-Bit asked, chugging his beverage down like he was a man dying from dehydration.

Soda eyed the clock above the stove. "I'm ready when y'all are." His eyes met his younger brother's as he cocked an eyebrow. "You finish your homework, yet?"

"Yeah."

Two-Bit tossed his empty bottle in the trash. "Then I'd say we're about ready to go."

Dally agreed, finishing off the rest of the beer in his hand. He couldn't be more thrilled to get out of that house, the reminder of everything that happened several months ago beginning to suffocate him as it dragged him down below the surface, like he was back in another one of those fucking nightmares.

* * *

Ella recognized Ponyboy immediately. He was sitting in one of the chairs beside the various racks of bowling balls, a Pepsi in one hand. With a small smile, she made her way over to him, feeling slightly out of place. She had debated on not showing up several times, but she figured it might do her some good to get out of the house for a while. Besides, it wasn't like she was really doing anything that night.

"Hey," the younger teen greeted, noticing her standing there. "You came."

The girl cracked a grin, taking a seat beside him. "Yeah."

She realized how relieved he appeared right then, and her eyes immediately began scanning the area to see who was there. She recognized Soda easily enough―he was standing off to the side with Two-Bit Mathews, sweet-talking two girls. Steve Randle was taking his turn bowling, letting out a loud and enthusiastic cackle as he made a third strike. His girlfriend, Evie, casually munched on a fry coated with ketchup, looking like she would rather be elsewhere.

"You wanna bowl with us?"

Ella shook her head. "I think I'll just hangout for now."

Ponyboy nodded. "Well, I'm glad you came."

The two sat in silence for a while, and Ella figured out why the younger teen had looked so relieved at her company. Everyone else was doing something, or had somebody to hangout with, except for him, even though he was doing his own thing. Soda and Two-Bit had wandered around, coming back here and there to take their turns, and Soda tossed his kid brother a grin when he saw that he wasn't just sitting there like a bump on a log by his lonesome.

Ella began to relax. She and Ponyboy had engaged in a conversation of their own, and after a half hour, she decided to bowl, too. She spoke a little to Evie, too, before the two of them walked outside to have a smoke. They didn't chat too much, but neither girl seemed to mind the company. Ella thought Evie was a decent girl, a little tough for what she was used to, but she was alright.

It was only when Ella heard that familiar voice did she tense up, lips thinning out like a cartoon character, eyes narrowing. She kept her body firmly planted in the seat next to Ponyboy, who was busy chatting with a boy from his science class. Ella suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable, silently debating on leaving or not. If she did, it would mean that Dallas Winston had the upper hand, and there was no way in hell that she was going to cower to the likes of him.

"Where the hell did you go?" Steve asked, taking a sip of Evie's drink.

"Met up with Cherie," Dallas answered, and the sound of light giggling reached Ella's ears. "Yeah, we was thinkin' of ridin' down the strip later. Y'all wanna come?"

Two-Bit hopped over the chairs, flopping down on the other side of Ponyboy. "I'm down. 'Sides, a few of the guys over there were talking about heading down there anyway."

Soda winked at the older teen, giving him a light nudge on the shoulder. "Why don't you ask Valerie Childs if she wants to tag along. She's been eyeing you all night."

Two-Bit was quick to jerk his head in the direction of said girl. "Yeah, maybe I'll do that."

"You bringing the kid along?"

Ponyboy scowled at Steve. Even though the two of them had been getting along a lot better than what they used to, it was still clear that Steve wasn't a fan of his. Sure, they would have each others back if anything happened, but they would never dig one another. Steve would always see him as an annoying kid, and Ponyboy would always see Steve as a jerk.

"I think I'll head home."

Soda's brows pulled together, a concerned look in his brown eyes. "You ain't walking, Ponyboy."

Ella glanced up, heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to keep quiet, but she could practically feel the emotions radiating from the teen beside her, and she was quick to step in. "I can drive him back to your house. It's not a problem."

"Gee, you don't gotta do that―"

Ponyboy interrupted his brother, though, glaring slightly at Steve. "Thanks."

"Who the hell invited her?"

Ella felt her scowl deepening at the tone of the hood's voice, and she stood up in one fluid motion, arms crossed over her chest. "Ponyboy asked me to come."

Dallas eyed her coolly, upper lip curled back in disgust. "What a shame, but I figured as much. Ain't nobody else who'd want you around."

The girl beside him snorted, sucking on her lips as she gave Ella a once over, raising one brow with a sneer. "Can't imagine why anyone would. She don't look any fun."

"Hey, now," Soda said, shaking his head. "Come on, y'all. She's Ponyboy's friend, alright?" He gave the bushy-haired girl an apologetic look as the others cleared out. "Don't pay attention to Dally―"

Ella waved him off. "It's fine."

Soda nodded once, but dropped the subject, turning his attention to Ponyboy. "You gonna be okay?"

The younger teen shrugged. "I'll be fine. I'll let Darry know you're staying out late."

"You're an okay, kid, little brother," he replied, playfully messing up his hair and taking off after the others.

Ella hadn't missed the annoyed expression on Evie's face, and she felt bad for the other girl. Still, the thought was forgotten as she and Ponyboy started walking toward the doors a few minutes later.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Sure."

The older teen forced the lump down in her throat, telling herself over and over again that she wasn't going to let Dallas's words get under skin. He was just an ignorant and nasty hoodlum, and she didn't want anything to do with him. She suddenly didn't regret ever hitting him, instead telling herself that he deserved it, along with everything else he ever got.

She repeated the mantra to herself as she and Ponyboy walked out into the night air, the coolness grazing at her facial skin and causing her to cringe, her hands immediately weaving themselves securely inside her jacket pockets. Hearing that obnoxious giggle again, the girl jerked around, only to see a sight that only further revolted her.

There stood Dallas and that girl he had his arm draped around earlier. They were pressed up against the side of somebody's vehicle, the blond's face buried in her neck as his hands roamed across her body and groped places that Ella had never been touched before, not even by Craig. She felt her face heating up, her stomach knotting in pure anger as another feeling entirely became ever so present. But it couldn't be, could it? No, Ella was certainly _not_ jealous of any of Winston's sleazy girls.

"Who is she?"

Ponyboy followed her gaze, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flash of disgust cross his face. "Cherie Peters."

"Dallas's girlfriend?"

The way she had asked sounded bitter, and Ponyboy glanced at her with skepticism. "I don't think they are together officially, but they've been seeing each other for a while now. How come?"

Grounding her teeth, Ella turned away from the inappropriate scene with a scowl on her face. "Thought that I recognized her from school, but I suppose I was wrong."

The younger teen watched the girl walk away, and his brows rose as his green eyes widened a little, an uncomfortable realization settling in the very pit of his stomach.

 _Try to see the world getting bigger_

 _We both have our roads and much farther to go_

 _But it won't have to feel so hard when you're not alone_

* * *

 **As always, thank you so much for all of the positive feedback! It keeps me going! :3  
**


	35. Broken Clouds and Rain

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Byrds own "(See The Sky) About To Rain."**

* * *

 _Some are bound for happiness_

 _Some are bound for glory_

 _Some are bound to live with less_

 _Who can tell your story_

 **March 1, 1966**

With a yawn, Ponyboy walked toward the kitchen, the sight of Darry coming into view as he flipped an egg over in the pan on the stove. The smell of bacon was thick in the air, the younger boy's stomach giving a low rumble as it rapidly wafted through his nostrils.

"Mornin'," he said to his oldest brother, pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk and taking a seat at the table.

Darry looked at him funny. "Glory, kiddo, did you sleep alright?"

"Got to bed late," he answered, rubbing a hand over his face. "I couldn't really sleep, either."

"You feelin' okay?"

Ponyboy nodded. "Yeah, I've just been thinkin', is all." A sigh. "Today would have been Johnny's seventeenth birthday."

An expression of realization crossed the older boy's face, but he remained collected. Something in his kid brother's voice made his heart seem to sink a little, but he couldn't let on that he was worried, or else Ponyboy would repress himself, and he didn't want another repeat of that. He and Soda had quite a difficult time getting their brother back on track, finally coming out of his shell enough to speak to both of them again, and Darry was awfully proud of him. He didn't want him back in that vacuum he had been in several months ago.

The teen continued on. "I was thinking that I might stop at the cemetery tonight to see him. Maybe I'll see Mom and Dad, too. Okay?"

Darry nodded. "Sure, kiddo." He gave him a small smile as he handed him a plate of bacon and a few silver dollar pancakes. He didn't want to push him to speak. When it came to discussing Johnny, he always let Ponyboy do the talking, unless he asked him something specifically. He decided to change the subject. "How's school been going?"

"Fine, I guess."

"Just fine?" He chuckled. "Glory, but I'd expect you to be excited for Spring break. It's just around the corner."

The teen perked at this, having forgotten about it. "Guess I've been so absorbed in school work that I haven't even thought about that."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure Dally is," Darry said, and grabbed his own plate, taking a seat across from his brother. "Nearly gave me a heart attack this morning."

Ponyboy's brows pulled together in confusion. "Dally?"

"He's asleep on the couch," came the response. "Didn't know who the hell he was at first." He jerked his head in the direction of the living room. "I'm surprised he ain't up yet."

With a shrug, the younger boy sighed, wondering why Dallas was at their house. He hadn't crashed at their place in months, and the only time he'd shown his face there had been a few days ago when they'd all headed to the bowling alley together. It seemed strange, not to mention, felt funny, to know that Dallas Winston was slowly placing himself back in their lives again. Ponyboy wondered if the older teen was aware that it was Johnny's birthday.

The sound of the shower stopping interrupted his thoughts. "Are you okay with Soda working over on the West side of town?"

Darry was quiet for a moment, but Pony didn't miss the defeated look in his pale eyes. "There ain't a thing I can do about it, kiddo."

"Yeah, but are you _okay_ with it?"

A pause. "I don't know."

Ponyboy remembered Soda telling him that he'd been hired at Giberson's Auto a few days ago, and truth be told, he was upset and worried. Steve hadn't exactly reacted to the news that graciously, either, and for once, Pony found that the two agreed on something. Soda didn't have to explain his reasons for getting a part-time job, though—he knew his brothers were struggling financially. A part of him felt like it was somewhat his fault for not contributing back to help them out, but Darry kept stressing over the fact that the only thing he needed to focus on was school and good grades.

Both Darry and Ponyboy glanced up as the sound of boots trudging into the kitchen reached their ears, a calm expression on Darry's face while Ponyboy looked almost perturbed.

Darry didn't even flinch. "Want some breakfast?"

Dally looked as though he had a hangover. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles underneath, and with the way his wrinkled clothes hung on him, there was no doubt that he was fooling around with that Cherie Peters again. Despite looking like complete shit, the blond teen merely took a seat at the table, the smell of some flowery perfume reaching the younger boy. He'd been right, he noted dully, nose crinkling up at the image of Cherie in his mind.

"Soda," Darry hollered, placing a plate in front of Dallas. "Let's go!"

Dally glanced once at Ponyboy, who was still staring at him with a curious look. "What, kid?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, and began eating again. He wasn't about to tell the hood that he was thinking of Ella Mitchell just then. Boy howdy, he wasn't sure why the girl's face had entered his mind, but he was pretty sure there was a reason for it, one that he could hardly admit to himself.

* * *

Ella sighed at the sight of Will Rogers High School. Her chin lowered as she stared at the building, wondering if she ought to ditch or not. Something in the back of her mind told her that that wouldn't exactly be a smart idea, but with the way she was feeling right then, she really didn't care what was right or wrong, or smart for that matter.

She had been feeling uneasy since the night she met up with Ponyboy at the bowling alley, and she wasn't sure why. Okay, well, some part of her was, but she couldn't bring herself to reconcile with it, didn't want to accept it. She'd been taking to sitting in the library during lunch again, sometimes with the company of Ponyboy and other times by herself. She had barely spoken to anybody, and whenever she saw Dallas Winston in the halls, she felt her heart sink into her stomach.

Speaking of the towheaded hood, Ella had seen him Monday evening at the store. He had shown up with his new girl, Cherie Peters, looking to purchase some liquor. Ella had been mortified just looking at him, completely ignoring the fact that Cherie was there with him. Her blood ran cold when he placed two packs of Bud on the counter, blue eyes burning straight into her own, as if he were challenging her.

She'd merely stared at him, unsure if she should tell him to get lost, or just ring him up and be done with it. Dallas hadn't said a word to her, but the calculating expression held on his face was enough to make the girl think of doing anything else, and against her better judgment, she rang up the alcohol and kept her trap shut as he threw some dollar bills at her and took his leave.

Ella had felt like a complete fool. Again, she had let Dallas Winston walk all over her, let him get his way, instead of working up enough nerve to tell him to leave. She figured that was why he thought he was able to do the things he did—nobody corrected or disciplined him because they were too afraid that he'd knock their teeth out.

"Hey, Ella," a voice greeted, pulling the girl from her thoughts. She jerked around to see Ponyboy Curtis standing there, a small smile on his lips. He frowned, though, once he took in her countenance, which looked like she'd been through the mill. "You okay?"

The girl slowly nodded, a sigh escaping her lips. "I'm alright. You just startled me, is all."

Pony's brows laced together, and Ella could tell that he didn't believe her. "Sure."

"I suppose I just don't feel like being here today," she admitted, eyes dull. At the sound of laughter, her gaze shifted over Pony's shoulder, her stomach knotting up. Dallas Winston and Two-Bit Mathews were headed in their direction, so Ella did the only logical thing she could think of. "I'll see you later," she said quickly to Ponyboy, and then hurried on inside the building.

She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, her cheeks burning with humiliation as the sight of white-blond hair and icy blue eyes entered her mind, and only when she'd gotten to her locker did she take a deep breath, attempting to calm her nerves.

Why was she acting like this? When had Dallas Winston, that no-good, rotten hood, ever made her feel this inferior and this anxious? She pursed her lips as she asked herself those questions, and with a defeated look in her eyes, she reached for her morning books.

* * *

Mrs. Girdlé was walking leisurely up and down the rows of the art room, looking around at the work of her students with amusement and curiosity. Dallas scowled, staring down at his blank paper, having not bothered to begin on the day's assignment. Art had never really been a hobby of his, and to aggravate Mrs. Girdlé, he always found a way to scribble out the same exact thing for every project she'd given the class.

He remembered the day she had questioned him about it, too, asking him if there was a significance that a certain jean jacket held for him, or if he just ultimately had a fondness for them. He had gotten annoyed with her inquiries, practically telling her to bug off before taking his leave. He really hated art class, and he definitely wasn't a fan of the teacher, either. Still, it annoyed him that she continued to treat him nicely, as if she felt sorry for him, and Dallas didn't do well with that.

"Mr. Winston," came her silvery voice. He had to refrain from gritting his teeth. His eyes moved up as he glanced at her, her face twisted in slight confusion at his blank paper. "Well, I'm surprised with you," she continued on. "I don't see any jackets."

Dally's expression twisted even more. "Why do you even care, huh? This shit is—"

She cut him off abruptly. "Mr. Winston, language. Now, if you don't feel up to joining the rest of the class in completing your assignment, you can stay after school with me and clean the easels and paint brushes as a detention."

The blond crossed his arms, kicking his feet out as he glared up at her. His eyes were challenging, lips pressed into a thin line. That was the best she had, he thought bitterly—always giving him a detention when he refused to cooperate with her. Well, that was just fine with him; he could tolerate an hour of cleaning easels and sorting paint brushes and other art supplies—it wouldn't be the first time. He wondered how far he would have to go to push her over the edge, to really rile her up and possibly get himself kicked out of her class.

Mrs. Girdlé stared back at the teenager with a stern look in her dark eyes, wondering why he tried so hard to make her dislike him, or why he went about doing the things he did. She remembered the first day he had swaggered into her classroom; he'd looked so angry, so aggressive, and his ornery demeanor only fueled her unceasing patience with him. He was tough to deal with, but no matter how awful the teen had been to her and the other students, she remained somewhat fond of him.

She sighed when he didn't respond to her warning. "Alright, then, Dallas. I'll see you after school tomorrow afternoon in detention."

The hood refused to comment, ignoring the disgusted looks of the other students in the class. He didn't like them, didn't want to be there with them. He'd been in that hell-hole for nearly five months, and still, they all looked at him like he was some kind of disease, like his very presence would make them sick if he moved any closer to them.

He didn't care, though. He didn't need them, he didn't need anyone. As he repeated that mantra to himself for the duration of the period, his eyes drifted to the calendar that hung on the wall beside Mrs. Girdlé's desk, a dark expression veiling his features.

It was Johnny's birthday.

* * *

Ella's shoulders slumped as she made her way into Mr. Davis's office. She hadn't seen the man in quite some time, but the gnawing feeling resting in the pit of her stomach—the fact that she knew who had vandalized his property a week ago—made her feel awfully guilty looking at him. When she'd been given her slip in homeroom, she nearly considered the fact that Craig had ratted them out. It seemed silly to even think of such a thing, but glory, it sure did make her feel anxious.

"Take a seat, Miss Mitchell," the principal said, sorting through some papers that were scattered around on his desk. Once the girl was seated, he continued on. "Tutoring Mr. Winston, I'm sure you're aware that he's falling a bit behind in math again."

Ella frowned. "He was struggling." The words sounded forced on her lips, and she felt herself squirm a little in the chair. She wasn't a very good liar, even though she could conjure up one hell of a bluff, but with the way Mr. Davis was attempting to analyze her just then made her feel sick . . . and guilty.

The man hummed, eyes moving back to Dallas's file. "Well, Miss Mitchell, with midterms just around the corner, I would strongly suggest helping Mr. Winston improve his math grade."

The girl's heart nearly stopped in her chest. She had completely forgotten about the midterms next week, and she suddenly felt even worse. She had considered Dallas's grades her responsibility ever since she was assigned his tutor, and even though he had pushed her away, she still felt that prodigious responsibility resting heavily on her shoulders.

"I'll be sure to work on that," she said, eyes lowering to the floor.

"Of course," he replied, noticing the girl's apprehensive expression. He closed the file, sliding it to the edge of his desk. "We wouldn't want to see Mr. Winston fail."

Ella glanced up at the tone of his voice, and something in her gut twisted. She remembered Craig telling her how he had used her as a distraction just to see Dallas fail, which was why George had talked Mr. Davis into making Ella the hood's tutor to begin with. She didn't want to see Dallas fail, she really didn't. In the beginning, she hadn't cared, simply telling herself that Dallas was only a job, one she would have to see through and then move on once he passed his senior year. But now, it was more of a personal matter.

She shook her head, though, swallowing the lump in her throat. "No, we wouldn't."

As she took her leave, she wondered how she would go about confronting the hood again. She was sure by now that he loathed her very existence—it didn't take much for him to get angry, and that day she had lashed out on him made her certain that he would never speak to her again, well, at least not in a decent or pleasant matter, not that Dallas Winston was any of those things to begin with.

Still, his grades were still her responsibility, and she took that part of the job seriously. Now, how the heck was she going to get Dallas to cooperate with her again? The thought alone made her feel rather nervous, her stomach knotting up and her breath hitching in her throat.

Oh, glory, she thought. Why did she have to feel like this?

* * *

" . . . and I'll be needin' some help with algebra, too," Two-Bit trailed on, leaning across the hood of his car. "Think that's about it. I was talkin' to Mrs. Philips, you know, that cranky counselor with a stick up her ass? Well, she was sayin' that if I don't pass these midterms, I might as well not even bother tryin' for the rest of the year. Can y'all believe that witch?" He laughed, then. "Gee, she sure does hate my guts, but I ain't surprised. She just can't lighten up."

Dally crossed his ankles, silently agreeing with the older greaser. His eyes caught Ponyboy's as the kid glanced up from his book, shaking his head at Two-Bit's rant.

"I'm failing math, too, apparently," the blond stated, giving them a wolfish smile. "Too bad, though. I ain't ever been any good with numbers."

Two-Bit gave him an inquisitive stare. "Thought you was getting help from Ella Mitchell."

"Naw," he replied, and then shook his head. "Little broad and I are done with that shit."

Ponyboy ground his teeth. "Well, I can't help you if you're having trouble with math, Dal. I'll be working with Two-Bit, and I have my own work to focus on, too."

The blond teen gave the kid a dark look, but Two-Bit was quick to step in, a slightly amused look on his face as he considered Ponyboy's words. That had been quite a speech for him, and to Dallas of all people. He was surprised the hood hadn't reached forward and clobbered the kid for getting mouthy with him, but the expression he wore wasn't real pleasant, either.

"Well," he drawled, lighting up a smoke, "Ella _is_ his tutor." His gaze landed on Dallas. "You'll just have to ask her for help with math and then toss her ass to the curb." He smirked. "Say, whatever happened with y'all that you ain't working together anymore?"

Dallas, even though he was irked that both Two-Bit and Ponyboy had ganged up on him, had to grin at the question. He'd been annoyed with Ella Mitchell, but he had to admit that her attacking him was pretty fucking brazen—that took some nerve. Still, he was pissed at her, and he didn't want anything to do with the likes of her. Stupid bitch.

"She's fuckin' crazy, that's what," he answered slyly. "Fuckin' bitch attacked me a week or so ago. I couldn't believe it."

Ponyboy's eyes broadened at that, and Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow, trying to visualize it. Both were astonished, to say the least. Ponyboy had asked both Dallas and Ella what had happened between them a while back, but he'd never gotten an answer. The nagging feeling of Ella's attitude in the past few weeks had made him suspicious of her, but now he knew that his earlier assumptions regarding her feelings were correct.

It took all of a few seconds before Two-Bit busted out laughing. "Are you . . . are you _for real?_ That little gal? Boy howdy . . ."

Dally looked ready to deck the rusty-haired teen, but Ponyboy spoke up, his curiosity getting the better of him. "What happened that she attacked you?"

The blond scowled deeply. "Told ya, she's fuckin' crazy. I dunno, man, she's off her rocker or somethin', acting one way and then another. I make one comment and the broad is coming across the seat at me like she's about to rip my head off. Glory . . ." He shook his head.

"Oh, Dal," Two-Bit mused, his face red from laughing so hard, "I think she likes ya."

Ponyboy felt his breath hitch at the older teen's words. He had been thinking that very same thing ever since the night at the bowling alley. The only problem was that he didn't want to admit it to himself, didn't want to believe that Ella Mitchell could fall for a guy like Dally Winston. He inwardly cringed, hoping that his feelings, as well as Two-Bit's, were wrong.

Dallas, however, stared at Two-Bit like he'd grown another head. "Get the fuck outta here. That little broad?"

His comment went unanswered as the bell rang, and he almost felt sick for a second. Ella Mitchell into him? That was the biggest joke he had ever heard—it made him feel green just thinking about it.

* * *

Ella sighed, stirring a pot of soup on the stove. She'd felt off all day, and her conversation with Mr. Davis continued to linger in the back of her mind, making her feel more worried than ever. She wasn't sure that she should approach Dallas at all, but some part of her told her that she had to. She knew that she could just let him fail—it was _his_ _own fault_ that he wasn't asking for help with math. Then again, it had been her who had attacked him, not the other way around.

The girl figured that he had a right to be angry. They had been getting along, well sort of getting along, for the most part, better than they ever had, until she had to go and ruin in. She couldn't get the look in his eyes out of her mind, though, and the entire thing made her feel worse.

Slapping the wooden spoon on the towel beside the burner, the girl frowned. She was making things more complicated than they needed to be. Glory, all she had to do was march up to Dallas, inform him that she'd talk to Mr. Davis, and then ask him if he needed or wanted help with math—piece of cake, right? So, then, why was she feeling so anxious? How come she always let Dallas walk all over her like he had some kind of control when he didn't?

The sound of the front door opening pulled the girl from her thoughts, and she went back to mixing around the soup, the smell wafting up into her nostrils and causing her stomach to grumble. Her mother entered the kitchen a moment later, letting out a breathy sigh as she placed her purse and keys on the table, moving over to the sink to wash her hands.

"How was school?" Frances asked, grabbing some bowls from the cabinet and placing them on the table.

Ella feigned a smile. "Alright. How was work?"

"Long," her mother answered, and then nodded to the pot of soup. "I'm going to take a shower before I eat, alright? I'm working a double at the bar tonight. Janie came down with the flu and Barb needs someone to cover her shift." She gave her daughter a hard stare. "I won't be back until the morning."

Ella nodded, knowing the routine all too well. "I'll be fine by myself, Ma."

Frances only sighed, running a hand through her graying hair as she disappeared around the corner, the sound of the shower turning on a few minutes later. Ella bit her lip, her eyes landing on her math book which was sprawled open on the table, reminding her all too well of what she'd been trying to forget just moments prior.

* * *

The cemetery was vacant, dusk settling in as the darkened clouds overhead seemed to grow thicker, alerting Ponyboy that it would soon be storming. Darry had told him not to stay out too long, but the kid always lost track of time. Besides, he wanted to read another chapter of _Gone with the Wind_ to Johnny for his birthday—it was the only way the teen could cope. He decided that every year on Johnny's birthday, he would read another chapter from the book, make like some kind of tradition, and when he eventually finished, he would start all over again.

He was certain it would sound silly to anyone else, but it somehow made him feel closer to his friend, made him forget—for just one moment—that Johnny was gone.

As he finished the final paragraph of the chapter, he flipped the book closed, allowing himself to remember that week they'd spent up in Windrixville—boy, it sure seemed like forever ago now. He still hated the taste of bologna, too, couldn't even look at it without his stomach turning. The teen was sure that Johnny was laughing at him, or as he would say, getting his jollies.

"What are you doin' here, kid?"

Ponyboy nearly jumped up, a startled look in his green eyes as he glanced up at Dally Winston, the older teen giving him a sharp look. He hadn't expected to have company, and he certainly hadn't expected to run into Dallas of all people, either. He remembered wondering earlier that morning if the towheaded boy was even aware that it was Johnny's seventeenth birthday, and his shoulders slumped as he realized that he had.

"Nothin'."

Dallas jammed his hands inside his pockets, a tired look on his hardened face. His eyes scanned the younger boy over, taking in the fact that he wasn't even wearing a jacket—stupid kid. His piercing gaze flickered up toward the sky as a low hum of the wind sounded around them.

Ponyboy got to his feet, tucking a thick book under his arm. "You come to see him?"

The blond's scowl only deepened at the inquiry. "Was passing through," he answered briskly, shifting on his feet as he nodded toward Johnny's headstone. "You reading to him or somethin'?"

The kid flushed. "He liked that book a lot, so I figured I'd finish it for him."

Dally could only stare at the kid in bewilderment. "Ain't that the book Two-Bit got him?"

"Well, yeah," Ponyboy replied, and decided not to bring up the events from September. Dally was a walking time-bomb, and the less he mentioned about any of that stuff, the safer he was. "He liked the movie, so I figured I'd read him the book."

Something flashed in the older teen's face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Good for him."

"I'm sure you think it's strange, huh?" Pony said, and sighed. "I remember you telling me to get tough and wise up, but I think I'm better off the other way." His eyes met the blond's. "At least I'm able to feel things, and I'm okay with that." He wasn't sure what he was really getting at, but he felt like he needed to say those words to Dallas—make him understand that not all was bad. That was what Johnny wanted after all, wasn't it? He hadn't meant to bring it up, especially after he practically tip-toed around the hood with his earlier words, but he braced himself for whatever Dallas would do next.

Dallas, on the other hand, felt his teeth grinding together. It took all of his strength not to belt the kid for talking to him like that. Ponyboy sure had gotten brazen in the last several months, but he didn't have to stand there and take it, either.

He decided to play it cool, though. "Whatever, kid. I thought you would have learned by now that not everything in the world is good and gold, or whatever." The sound of thunder rumbling in the distance averted his gaze from the kid's face. "Let's go, huh? It's about to storm and I don't wanna get caught up in it out here."

He was already walking away before the younger boy could respond. Ponyboy watched him head down the trail, a surreal expression on his face. Sometimes he wondered if Dally would have been better off dying instead of living that one fateful night, because he was even more of a shell than he'd once been, and the younger teen wondered if his soul was really still alive after all.

 _See the sky about to rain broken clouds and rain_

 _Locomotive pull the train_

 _Whistle blowin' through my brain_

 _Signals curling on an open plain_

 _Rolling down the track again_

 _See the sky, about to rain_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading and giving me positive feedback! Y'all are the best! :3**


	36. Better Now

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Byrds own "Things Will Be Better."**

* * *

 _Things will be better now_

 _Don't ask me why, don't ask me how_

 **March 4, 1966**

Ella frowned at the sight of her hair in the mirror—even pulled back in a French braid it didn't want to cooperate with her. Sometimes, she really considered just cutting it all off, but then it would be even more difficult to manage. Her mother told her that it would straighten out over time, but Ella wondered if it honestly ever would. With a sigh, the girl turned the water on and rubbed her hands under the faucet, before running them over the top and sides of her hair, hoping to flatten it out some.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Ella nearly jumped back in surprise. She blinked once as Evie, Steve Randle's girlfriend, came to stand beside her, touching up on her own makeup. Her eyes drifted over to Ella, noticing her trouble. On the other hand, Ella was chewing her bottom lip, trying to make one stray piece of her hair stay tucked inside of the hairpiece. She was half hoping that Evie wouldn't notice, remembering the last time the two had run into each other—the same day Evie had gotten her hooked on smoking.

"Need some help?" the younger girl asked, raising a curious brow.

Ella pursed her lips. "I'm not sure. I'm just trying to—"

"Make your hair stay down?" Evie guessed, moving to lean against the sink. "You know, hairspray will do ya a world of wonders." She fluffed her own shiny locks. "That's how I manage mine anyway. I got some on me if you want to use it."

The brown-haired girl merely stared. How many girls carried a bottle of hairspray with them? "Sure, but could you help me?" She felt like an idiot due to her own question. "It's just that, well—"

Evie shook her head. "No need to explain. I get it, believe me." She flashed the girl a grin. "'Sides, all my girlfriends are always asking me to help them out with their hair. Here." She reached for the girl's hair tie, quickly pulling her hair out from the messy braid. "Damn, you sure got yourself a head of hair, but that's just fine. Ain't nothin' I can't handle."

For the next several minutes, Evie fixed Ella's hair. The latter was surprised at how easy she made it look, too, and thanked whatever being was above that Evie had shown up to school early, and that they had ran into each other; she figured she was early due to the weather, much like herself, though.

Evie was a genius when it came to taming crazy hair, and by the time she was finished, Ella's brown locks no longer looked like they needed a bushwhacker rather than some generous TLC.

She ran her hands through her nearly flat, bushy hair, smiling a little. "How did you do that?"

Evie only crossed her arms, a smirk on her lips. "All in the genes, I suppose."

"Right. Your mom—"

"Works at a hair salon." She winked. "She passed her talent down to me, I reckon." She quickly shooed Ella's hands away from her hair. "Well, don't _play_ with it!"

When the bell rang, the two parted ways, and for once, Ella actually felt better about herself, and all it took was a little hair management, too. However, her good spirits practically diminished when she saw a familiar head of unkempt, blond hair by her locker. Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach as she made her way over to where he stood, silently wishing that it wasn't _him_ , only it was, and there was no way she was making an escape, because he had spotted her, too.

She crossed her arms as she stared up at his towering frame, trying her hardest to not accidentally embarrass herself, or look like she was intimidated. She kept her expression neutral, waiting for him to say whatever it was he needed to, before leaving her alone.

Dallas, though, didn't look to be in a sour mood, which was quite surprising. "You don't look too happy to see me, sweets," he said, leaning beside her locker door.

Ella raised her chin a little, keeping her cool. "Should I be?"

"Well, considering the fact that you nearly ripped my head off a week ago, or whatever, I'd—"

"Oh, cut the bull," she bit out hardly, spinning her combination. "What do you want, Dallas?"

The blond almost chuckled at how stubborn she was attempting to be. It had always been a rise taking a jab at her, or cracking jokes at her expense before, and he sure as hell wasn't about to _cut the bull_ , as she had called it. He remembered Two-Bit assuming that she had some kind of interest in him, and even looking at her then made him feel sick. That assumption had to be wrong— _far_ wrong.

He smirked a little. "Well, for one, you're supposed to be my tutor."

The force she used to slam her locker stunned him, but not much. She turned to face him with one hell of a glare, and for a second, he thought she might come after him again.

"Supposed to be?" she repeated, irritation in her voice. "You're the one who said that we were done with the tutoring, so I figured you didn't want to be bothered anymore. If you need help with anything, you need to ask me." She crossed her arms. "It's not like I _work_ for you."

"I ain't the one who attacked you," he bit back, staring down his nose at her. "'Sides, I figure we're even enough. You tried for a boxing match with me, I embarrassed you and made you look like more of a dope than what you are, and we're back to square-fucking-one again."

Ella was staring at him as if he were insane. "You think this is a game?"

"Life's a game, sweets," he said, and pushed himself away from the lockers as the bell rang. "Look, just meet me out in the lot today after school, will ya?"

Her eyes narrowed more, until they were nearly slits. "Don't hold your breath."

* * *

"I ain't never heard of this garbage," Two-Bit complained, staring at the work Ponyboy had given him. "You sure this is gonna be on the test?"

The younger teen groaned deeply. "Yes, Two-Bit." He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Two-Bit was usually more cooperative than this, though for some reason he seemed pretty anxious, but Ponyboy couldn't really blame him—he'd been somewhat worried about the midterms. "Just try one problem and if you don't get it, we'll work on it." He sighed. "We've got this whole weekend to go over the lesson."

The rusty-haired greaser shook his head. "Gee, you got a whole 'lotta faith in me, kid."

"Because I know you can do it."

Ponyboy watched as his friend got to work. It was odd seeing Two-Bit worked up about something like schoolwork, or a test. Then again, if he failed, it would seriously lower his chances of passing his junior year, which would endanger any chance he had of graduating the following year. Ponyboy knew how much stress Two-Bit was carrying on his shoulders at that particular moment, and he promised himself that he would help him to the best of his abilities. Thing was, Two-Bit was an awfully smart guy—he just didn't give himself enough credit.

The older teen slid the paper back in his direction a moment later. "Did my best."

As his eyes scanned the work over, Ponyboy's brow raised just a little. "You did everything right, but at the bottom, you're supposed to divide, not subtract."

"Divide, subtract, ain't it technically the same thing?" came the annoyed response.

Ponyboy only offered his friend a quizzical stare. "Let's resume this after school at my house, alright? We've been at this almost the entire period."

And that was true. Two-Bit and him had been working every day during study hall, going over math and English, Ponyboy giving him lessons from the books that he knew would be included on next week's midterms. He wasn't really looking forward to those tests, but he never had a problem passing them—he supposed he and Darry were alike that way. Neither one of them really ever worried about studying too much; they were natural successors academically.

"Yeah, sure," Two-Bit mumbled in response, leaning back in the chair. "How's your brothers holding up anyway, kid?"

Ponyboy rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, Darry ain't too happy with Soda working on the other side of town now, but he said there isn't much he can do about it."

"Reckon there isn't," he replied, his voice almost soft. "Can't believe he took the job, though."

"I know."

Two-Bit, never one to remain down, immediately lightened up. "Well, look at this way, kid, maybe Soda will get himself a nice, upper class girl, huh?" He winked. "Think about that. Soda and a Socy gal, now that's a sight I'd never believe with my own two eyes, but given the way those gals fall all over him like putty, I wouldn't be surprised if he asked one of them out eventually."

* * *

"Mr. Winston, take a seat," Mrs. Philips said, adjusting her glasses. "Shut the door, please."

The blond jammed his fists into his denim pockets, using his boot to kick the door closed. He hated visits with Mrs. Philips, hated the way she looked at him, as if she were silently criticizing him, or like she was attempting to dissect him. He knew she didn't like him, hell, she couldn't stand him, and he was sure the very sight of him in her office disgusted her. Well, that was a two-way street, he thought bitterly, dropping himself into the chair across from her desk.

"I'm sure you can guess why I sent for you," she continued dryly, not bothering to even look over at him. "Midterms are next week, Mr. Winston, as I'm sure you're aware, however, Mr. Davis was a little concerned with your grade in geometry. He spoke to Miss Mitchell about it the other day, as I'm sure she mentioned to you."

Dallas's brows pulled together at that new information. When the hell had Davis talked to Dopey? And about his grades, no less. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared back at the counselor seated across from himself, a cool look in his blue orbs. He couldn't tell her that he had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, that he hadn't spoken to Ella about his grades at all, well, except for that morning, but even then, it wasn't much. Dumb bitch.

Mrs. Philips sighed. "With your current grade, we were concerned about you partaking in the midterms, which—"

The teen cut her off, voice hard. "Listen, lady, I know where the hell my grades are at, and I ain't got no problem taking the test next week, savvy?"

She blinked in surprise at the bite in his tone, adverting her eyes from his rugged countenance. "Mr. Winston, be that as it may; however, where you're currently ranging right now on the academic pyramid, it is a _major_ concern of whether or not you'll pass the midterms, and if you fall below a certain level, you'll be unable to finish your senior year."

Gritting his teeth, Dallas almost spit at her. Oh, he'd understood her underlying message to him alright; she was calling him stupid, all because his education didn't meet the district's requirement for what was considered acceptable. He was a greaser, possibly worse than just that, too—he was a criminal. He didn't matter in their eyes, and he was quite aware of that. Mrs. Philips didn't honestly give a flying fuck if he passed or failed the midterms, but God forbid one of those upper class, trust-fund fuckers found themselves on their way to failure.

"Yeah?" he said, standing up and giving her a sharp look. "Well, y'all can just shove your concerns elsewhere, 'cause I ain't gonna have no problem with them tests."

And with that, he threw the door open and stalked on out of the office, swearing silently all the way to the high heavens. He was pissed, more pissed than he'd been in a long time, even more-so than he was when Ella practically shredded his face. Speaking of that air-headed dope, Dallas needed to speak to her, and she wasn't gonna give him anymore fucking static, either.

He was gonna make her help him pass, even if he had to drag her by her crazy-ass hair out to the lot after school that afternoon.

* * *

Ella trudged out of history class, a grim look on her face. She liked Mr. Monroe, really she did, but there were times when she just really couldn't stand his assignments. This week, he was making the class partner up to study for the midterms next week, and Ella had sat there like a bump on a log because she didn't talk to anyone. Oh, sure, she knew who the other students were, having grown up with them and all, but she felt more like an outcast than anything. When the other kids had gotten into groups, Ella just tucked herself into her seat, letting her hair fall around her face in hope that nobody would realize she was sitting by herself.

She remembered her junior year, then, remembering how she and Sylvia Evans would often pair up so that neither of them had to work alone. Sylvia had actually been the year ahead of Ella, but since she had failed history class in her junior year, she had to retake it the following year. She and Ella had ended up in the same class, the only two girls of middle and lower class, so it wasn't a surprise to anyone when they would get together for projects and class assignments.

The girl was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she hadn't noticed the towheaded greaser walking beside her, their steps practically in synchronization. It took a moment to realize that somebody was even _that_ close to her, and when she glanced up, she immediately scowled. _Oh, great_ , she thought, wishing she'd just kept her head down.

"What do you want?" she asked coolly, rounding the corner of the hall.

Dallas didn't even bother to look at her, instead keeping his eyes forward. "You never bothered to tell me that you spoke to Davis about my grades, or these fucking midterms."

"Well, I haven't exactly seen you until this morning," she replied, the annoyance in her voice seeping through. "How'd you find out?"

The blond ground his teeth. "The counselor."

"Mrs. Philips?" Ella sounded surprised, and the expression on her face only confirmed that she was. It wasn't exactly a shock that Mrs. Philips might mention that Mr. Davis had spoken to her, but the girl wasn't sure why.

Dallas rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Said she needed to discuss my grades along with the fact that she and ol' Davis are concerned about me taking the midterms."

Ella came to a stop at her locker, raising a curious brow at him. She was trying to register his words, but they sounded odd to her. She figured that their concern was because Dallas wasn't exactly up to where he should have been on the academic pyramid, though his grades had been improving, save for math, but he most certainly wasn't behind in any of his classes.

"You'll do fine, I'm sure," she responded after a minute, switching her books out.

"Yeah, well"—He leaned closer to her—"that's where you're gonna come in handy, sweets."

Ella knew from experience that Dallas was going to try and persuade her to help him out. Biting her lip, she turned to face him, crossing her arms as she stared up at him defiantly.

"Oh?" she said, her gaze not once faltering. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

Dallas smirked, and Ella had to force herself to keep steady. "Ain't you supposed to be my tutor? Look, we already had this discussion, Jesus Christ."

"But I never agreed to help you again." She kept her gaze firmly planted on his face. "Like I said, don't hold your breath, hood."

Dally was cocky, though. "And what would Davis and Philips have to say if you weren't doing your job, huh?" He crossed his arms, eyeing her expectantly. "'Cause here's what I think would happen." Another smirk. "First, I'd tell Davis that you were intentionally refusing to help me out, and then I'd blame my math grade on you, _and then_ I'd fail the math part of the midterm, _and then . . ._ well, I don't think it's lookin' so good for you at this point, but—"

Ella was fuming. "Oh, _shut up_. Please, it's not like any of that would really happen. Besides"—She tossed her hair over her shoulder, raising her chin a little—"do you think they'd even believe you?"

If there was one thing Dallas had always enjoyed about Ella, it was how easily it was to piss her off just to get under her skin. She always took the bait, always got fired up, and it was something he'd always took pleasure in. He knew from experience that she was about to cave—there were steps to her anger, he'd noticed. First, she'd get annoyed, then she'd become temperamental, and finally, she would become angry and snap, the result of which would involve her attempting to knock his block off. But she always caved.

"Maybe, maybe not," he answered, staring at her icily.

Ella was growing impatient. "Well, I guess I'll take my chances, then."

The two glared at each other for a moment, and Ella inwardly cringed. She had thought about helping Dallas out ever since Mr. Davis had told her about his grade in math, but now that they were face to face and he was the one coming to her for the help, she didn't want to give any. Something about being around him made her feel weird, like she had to be cruel or something. She wasn't even sure if it made sense, but she was growing flustered and anxious, and she no longer wanted to be around him.

Dallas kept his eyes on hers, merely staring. He thought about Two-Bit's words, then, and with a forced smile, he did the only thing he could think of. He could see the girl's cheeks turning a shade, could tell that she was incredibly nervous just standing there, even though her behavior was erratic and moody, so he leaned forward a little, reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear.

"Think about it, sweets," he said in a low voice beside her ear, pulling back to give her a wink.

Ella felt her chest tighten, but she quickly moved away from his touch. "We'll see," she mumbled out, and practically took off down the hall, not once looking back.

* * *

"Ain't it a little late for midterms?" Steve muttered, shaking his head as he and Two-Bit walked out of the school. "They're usually held in February, right?"

The older teen nodded. "What I always thought, too, but I never paid too much attention to any of that junk, not like I'm doing now anyway."

"You're too poor to pay attention," came the witty response, and Two-Bit smirked, cocking an eyebrow at the dark-haired boy. "Ponyboy helpin' you study an' all?"

Two-Bit nodded. "Sure is. That kid is something else, I'll tell ya that."

"Still a pain in the ass, but he's okay."

At that precise minute, Ponyboy met up with the two older teens, falling in step beside Two-Bit as they headed toward Steve's car. The younger boy looked around for Dallas, even though the teen drove in separately. Usually, both Two-Bit and Steve would, too, and Ponyboy would either walk or catch a ride from either boy, but Two-Bit's car had broken down again, and Steve was supposed to be taking a look at it that weekend.

"Where's Dally?" Ponyboy inquired, eyes flickering between the older teens.

Steve lit up a cigarette as they walked across the lot. "He's gotta study date with the Mitchell girl."

His face expressed shocked. "Dally is working with Ella again?" Well, that was news to his ears, and he wondered for a moment why neither Dally or Ella had said anything to him about it. "When did this all happen?"

"This afternoon," Two-Bit replied, climbing in the passenger side of Steve's car. "Told Steve about it earlier, something about Mrs. Philips and Mr. Davis gettin' on his case 'cause of his grade in math. He went and hunted Ella down, and that's all there is to it." Pony's brows furrowed as he considered Two-Bit's words, but the the older teen was already changing the topic. "Say, kid, you know why the school is making us take these tests so late? Didn't we always take them in January or something?"

Ponyboy nodded. "February, and I'm not sure why we're taking them so late. All I know is that finals will be the second week of May instead of the last week of April, like usual."

"Weird," Steve mumbled, and then turned the radio up, signaling that he was no longer up for talking about school anymore. He jerked his head toward Two-Bit, mentioning something about taking Evie out that night, and Ponyboy was forgotten in the backseat, watching the scenery pass by while Steve drove and Two-Bit yapped away.

* * *

Ella had considered just leaving school early so she could skip out on tutoring Dallas, but some part of her felt responsible, not to mention bad. She didn't particularly care for Mrs. Philips, and she knew that the older woman didn't exactly like Dallas, either. It had taken a serious amount of thought, but in the end, Ella found herself sluggishly making her way toward the familiar T-Bird in the parking lot.

The blond-headed hood was already in the driver's seat, a smug look on his face as he saw her petite frame heading his way in the rear-view mirror. The car was already running, the gearshift in reverse, and once the girl was close enough, he deliberately stepped on the gas and backed out of the spot, coming within a few inches of hitting her.

Ella swiftly jumped to the side, jaw spilling open as Dallas hit the brakes hard, that stupid smirk still on his lips as she bared her teeth at him through the window with complete vexation. But he still wasn't quite finished with her, and when she'd went to open the door, he backed the car up another few inches, staring back at her with a mischievous expression.

"Dallas!" she cried when he did it _again_ , and with her arms crossed, face contorted in frustration, she sent him harsh daggers until he raised his hands up off the steering wheel. But Ella shook her head, not falling for another one of his tricks. "Put it in park," she ordered, and only when he'd done so did she open the door and climb in. "You're a jerk."

"So I've been told," he replied, not waiting for her to adjust herself in the seat or anything, instead taking off out of the parking lot and onto the main road, the girl beside him practically flying into his side as he made a sharp left turn.

* * *

For the first time, Dallas had actually paid attention to Ella, listening carefully to her instructions and advice. The girl knew that it was simply due to the fact that he was set on passing the midterms, determined to prove Mr. Davis and Mrs. Philips wrong, and not because of her. Still, the fact that he was actually _listening_ to her made the session that much easier.

Since Ella knew that they would be a while studying that afternoon, she had openly suggested that they go to her house for a change so it wouldn't be as cramped in the car. Dallas seemed skeptical about the situation at first, but eventually agreed. The two teenagers had lounged on the couch in the living room, Ella at the end closest to the kitchen entry, and Dallas closer to the front door.

The blond was trying not to let the fact that he felt like a real pansy gnaw away at him, while his tutor simply tried to ignore her own feelings. She would glance at Dallas every few minutes, watching as he worked away at the math lessons she'd given him. His brows were furrowed, that seemingly permanent scowl present on his face as his lips stayed pursed in a very thin line.

Ella eyed the clock, before her gaze shifted back over to Dallas. "You want to take a break?" she offered, keeping her voice level. When he lifted his eyes to look at her, she continued. "We've been at this for over two hours." Her brows rose. "You hungry? I can make something if you want."

"Sure." The answer was short and simple.

Dallas watched her make her way into the kitchen, and he tossed the math book aside and leaned back against the couch, stretching a little. He remembered the last time he'd been in the Mitchell household—the day when he'd come to question Ella about her attack over a month ago. Glory, he thought, time sure was going by quickly.

Ella poked her head out from the kitchen. "Is chicken okay?"

"You makin' me dinner or somethin'?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I, uh, it's all we have right now, well, that and some potatoes, but I can—" She paused at the intensity of his stare. "What?"

The blond looked her over, taking in the pink tinge of her cheeks, the nervous look in her eyes, and the way her frame seemed so stiff and tense. Lordy, but had she always been that anxious around him? He'd never noticed it before. And then it hit him—Two-Bit was right; the girl had it in for him, and she had it _bad_.

"Nothin'," he said, placing his hands behind his head. "Whatever you're cookin' up is fine." He didn't remove his gaze as she retreated back into the kitchen, the sound of her bustling about echoing around the house a moment later.

The frown on his face deepened as he considered Ella. The idea of her even being interested in him like that made his skin crawl. He was certain if he looked up "domesticated" in the dictionary, Ella's picture would be right next to it. She wasn't wild or reckless, or . . . anything really. No. Sure, she was fiery when provoked, and she was bold, but not the way he liked his girls. Ella was the type of girl that would probably marry a good and faithful working man who would treat her right.

Dallas shook his head at the thought. Ella didn't like him, and even if she _thought_ she really had any sort of feelings for him, it was still his image that lured her in. He knew he could never like her back, and he wouldn't even entertain the concept of it, wouldn't even string her along with the possibility of it, either. Besides, he was doing just peachy with Cherie Peters—now there was girl he could entertain ideas with—wild, brazen, easy, reckless . . .

The smell of food wafted into his nostrils a while later, and with a curious expression, the blond made his way into the kitchen to find Ella flipping a piece of chicken over on the stove before going back to stirring the small pot of boiling potatoes beside the pan. Crossing his arms, he leaned on the counter beside her and watched her for a minute or so until she glanced up at him.

"Yes?"

"So you attack me _and_ feed me, sweets." A smirk brushed his lips. "You poisoning my food?"

Ella glared at him. "Guess you'll find out when you eat it."

The smirk only became more indented at her sharp response. Oh, yeah. Ella Mitchell was literally the walking definition of domesticated.

' _Cause misunderstand is the cause of it all_

 _It take you to the top just to watch you fall_

* * *

 **Thank you so much for all of the feedback on this story! :3  
**

 **Also, to learn more about Evie's hair skills, which were mentioned in the beginning of this chapter, check out "God Help the Girls" by Bratpack 2.0, a collaborative effort by _AndThatWasEnough, lulusgardenfli,_ and I, which focuses on and centers around the girls from the book, featuring some of our own characters from "Don't Think Twice"/"Sins of the Saints", "Green Light", and "The Visit." It takes place between chapters five and six of this story! :3**

 **Until next time . . .**

 **—Cat**


	37. Losing My Mind

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Runaways own "School Days."**

* * *

 _Used to be the wild one_

 _Hated class only lived for fun_

 **March 9, 1966**

"Are you sure you don't want to go over the lesson again?" Ella asked, raising a brow as she looked at the blond beside her.

Dallas shook his head, casually tossing his cigarette butt out the window. "Nah."

The girl closed the textbook and notebook, tossing them inside of her bag and moving to lean back against the seat. She stretched her legs out in front of herself, a soft sigh falling from her mouth as she stared at the sight of Will Rogers High School. It was Wednesday, the first official day that the entire student body would be subjected to torture in the form of a series of tests called midterms.

Ella had agreed to meet Dallas before school to get some studying in; she was _more_ than surprised when he'd suggested it to her Tuesday afternoon, but she had decided to help him out the best that she could, so she had agreed to meet up with him. Unfortunately, Ella had her science test first thing in the morning, unlike Dallas, who had a free slot because he had an elective first period, so their time was limited.

Speaking of which, the towheaded teen scowled. "What the hell am I supposed to do for two and a half hours anyway? I don't have any tests until the second half, or whatever."

Ella shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe get more studying in?"

"Don't need it," he commented, sounding rather confident. "We've spent enough time going over that shit anyway."

She nodded. "I guess so. Well, I suppose you'll just have to find something to do to keep yourself occupied until later."

Dallas gave her a cool look. He really wasn't looking forward to confining himself to doing absolutely nothing for almost three hours. Why the fuck did these tests have to be so long anyway? What sick fuck created that time duration? Glory, Dallas would have conjured up a million and one things to do years ago in a situation like this, none of them considerably legal, though. Those were the days, he thought, a smirk touching his lips—too bad it couldn't be like that now.

He glanced at Ella for a second. "What test you takin' first?"

"Biology."

"Ain't your ex in that class with ya?"

For a moment, Ella's eyes widened, but she quickly calmed herself. "Yeah, why?"

The hood merely shrugged. "Dunno." And then he turned away from her, shifting his gaze out the front window, a bored tone seeping through his voice. "He ever bother you or anything?"

"Of course not," Ella answered, confusion written across her face as she wondered why Dallas would ask a question like that. "He won't even look at me."

And the hood could only cat-grin at that answer. Nobody had bothered mentioning George Clayton's or Craig whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was's names since February, and the blond was glad those two clowns were out of the picture. He told himself the only reason he had asked Ella about Craig was because he was looking out for Ponyboy, wanted to make sure there was nothing going on with him.

* * *

An hour into the first half of the exam, Dallas found himself growing antsy. He was supposed to wait in the auditorium with the other students who didn't have a test that morning. The towheaded teen, however, was never one for following the rules, so instead of being where he was supposed to be, he found himself leisurely wandering the halls, hands resting in his pockets, a contemptuous look on his face as he roamed around.

He wished that Steve or Two-Bit or Ponyboy, hell, even fucking Dopey, were around to keep him some form of company, but they all had tests that morning. He chuckled to himself, considering the fact that Steve would be subjected to this same torture of aimless walking later that day, since he had gym second period—at least Two-Bit and Ponyboy would be able to hangout together since they had their electives at the same time.

"Mr. Winston," a familiar voice called, causing the teen to practically freeze in his steps, his eyes shifting as he turned back to face Mrs. Girdlé, who was standing outside of the art room, arms crossed over her chest and a firm look on her face. "What are you doing?"

The teen only frowned. "What's it look like?"

"Come here, please," she said, not waiting for a response, simply stepping back inside of her classroom with a sigh.

It took Dallas a moment to react, but he found himself turning on his heel and following his teacher in the room, his scowl deepening as he wondered what in the hell she could possibly want with him right then—surely he wasn't in trouble, not that he could give a shit either way.

"Yeah?" he asked, leaning against the frame of the door, watching her with a bitter reflection in his pale orbs.

Mrs. Girdlé merely stared at him. "Where are you supposed to be right now, Mr. Winston?"

The blond smirked, but it wasn't friendly. "Wherever I want."

"I don't think so," she countered, voice even. "You're supposed to be in the auditorium."

"If you knew, why'd ya ask?"

The woman rolled her eyes, arms dropping back to her sides. "I'm glad I ran into you, Mr. Winston. In fact, I've been meaning to discuss something with you."

"I'm sure it'll be a blast," he muttered to himself, but it hadn't gone unheard by Mrs. Girdlé.

She gave him a stern look. "Yes, it will be, Mr. Winston." She motioned to her desk. "Would you come here, please? Oh, and close the door behind you, there are students testing across the hall."

Dallas ground his teeth but did as she asked, however, he made sure to slam the door just to annoy the woman further; he was sure that she wasn't all that glad to see him, because he sure as hell wasn't glad to see her, not that he ever was. The sound of the door practically shattering on its hinges hadn't seemed to upset Mrs. Girdlé all that much, but her expression had dropped a little.

Grabbing a folder from the side of her desk, the woman blinked as her eyes roamed across it. "I've been going over your work from this year, and I wanted to ask you something, Dallas." She handed the folder to him, watching his expression change from stoic to bafflement in the matter of seconds. "Do you remember me asking you about the significance of jean jackets, which you seem so fond of?"

"They don't mean nothin,' lady," he argued, tossing the folder back on her desk.

The teacher only smiled. "I don't wish to believe that."

"Well, believe what you want, Mrs. Gir _dle_ , but that's the fu— truth, savvy?" His voice was growing harsher by the second, his demeanor turning bitter.

Mrs. Girdlé knew how unstable Dallas Winston could be, how often his moods could switch, like turning a lamp on and off really quick. He was erratic, unpredictable, and so, so angry, however, none of those traits stopped her from trying to figure him out—she wanted to help him. There were many sides and layers to the teen that she couldn't understand, but she knew better than to try to. Instead, she attempted to decipher him through expression—his classwork—and so far, she had seemed to be piecing something together.

"Of course," she replied after a minute, and then made her way across the room to a shelf filled with various books of different artists and paintings. Running her finger across a small selection on the bottom, she grabbed one and pulled it out, placing it on the table and flipping through some pages, brows knitted together in concentration. Eventually, she stopped, a smile adorning her lips as she turned the book around to face the blond. "Recognize the painting?"

Dallas studied the picture carefully. "Nope."

Mrs. Girdlé ushered him over, and once he was close enough did she continue. "Take another look, Dallas."

The blond rolled his eyes, but decided to humor the woman. His eyes scanned the picture, the blue swirls staring back at him, the dream-like scenery capturing his attention for only a moment. It vaguely looked familiar, but he couldn't seem to place it—that's what he got for not ever really paying attention during class, he supposed.

"Don't recall seeing it," he said, pursing his lips. "Can I go now?"

Ignoring the teen's question, she continued on calmly. "It's called _The Starry Night_ , painted by the artist Vincent Van Gogh in 1889. If you remember back in December before Christmas break, I had the class study this very painting before creating their own interpretation of it." Her eyes met his, one brow raised. "You were creative enough to turn in another painting of a jean jacket, only that time, it was drawn on a stick-figure standing in the middle of buildings." A sigh. "Do you remember anything about the artist, Dallas?"

"Nope."

Mrs. Girdlé closed the book, handing it to him. "I figured as much, since you like to do and think as you please during class time." She gave him a wry grin. "But, since you were so bored and eager to roam the halls this morning, I've found something for you to do in order to occupy yourself." She watched as his eyes hardened in aggravation, but she continued on anyway. "I'd like for you to read about Van Gogh for the remainder of this morning's testing to give you a heads up on next week's project."

"You gotta be kidding me," he bit out, slamming the book on the table. "No way."

"Oh, _yes_ way, Mr. Winston," she argued back, though her countenance was much more collective than his. "Next week, I will be assigning each student an artist to interpret for themselves in order to complete a painting of something that they consider relevant to that interpretation." A smile. "You'll be assigned Van Gogh, Mr. Winston, so unless you'd like to take a trip to Mr. Davis's office now for wandering the halls when you're supposed to be in the auditorium, I suggest you start in on your research. I think you'll find that Van Gogh and yourself have some similarities that may interest you."

"Doubt that," he mumbled under his breath, silently cursing everything under the sun.

"Oh, I don't," came the quick response, and the woman moved back to her desk, glancing over at the blond-headed teen every few seconds, shaking her head at the sneer on his face.

* * *

Ella bounded out of Mrs. Wilson's class once testing was over. There was only an hour interlude for lunch and relaxation, and the girl was more than thankful for it. She hated sitting like that for long periods at a time—the duration of time that was given for each section of the science exam was almost ridiculous, she thought to herself; she was done before half the time span was even through, and she found herself becoming more restless as she sat on the stool at the lab table idly watching the clock above the chalkboard, waiting for the test to be over with.

"Ella," a familiar voice called out, causing the girl to turn around, one hand resting on the door to the girls' bathroom. A small smile brushed her lips as she saw Evie Martin making her way in her direction, a relieved look on her face. "Hey."

"Hi," Ella replied, the two of them stepping into the bathroom. "How are you?"

Evie grinned. "Alright. Yourself?"

"Fine. How was your test?"

The dark-haired girl made a face. "I just hate midterms, don't you?" At the nod from the other girl, she continued on in a drab voice. "Glory, but I had algebra first thing! Ugh. What about you?" She began touching up on her makeup, a frown on her lips.

Ella sighed. "Boring. I had biology first, but don't feel too bad. I have geometry next."

"Well, I've got history next with Monroe—"

"You have Monroe for history?"

Evie nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, second period for U.S. History 1."

"Oh," came the dull response. "I have him for U.S. History 2 fourth period, so I'll have that test tomorrow afternoon after English."

A thoughtful expression appeared on the younger girl's face. "Say, you an' me have gym together last period—you wanna hang out Friday afternoon?"

Ella's blue eyes practically lit up. "Yeah, sure."

"Great," Evie replied, going back to fixing her makeup. "What are you doing for the next hour?"

A shrug. "Probably going to the library, or something."

"The library?" Evie repeated, almost sounding disgusted. "Why don't you come with me? Me an' Steve and a few others are going to the DX for lunch."

Ella flushed. "Oh, that's alright. I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense," she said, brushing her off. "Ain't you been tutoring Winston?"

"Yes."

"Good, I'm sure his lousy ass will be coming along, too." Another frown. "I really don't wanna be the only girl there, but—"

Ella interrupted, and against her likeness, agreed to go, causing the younger teen to smile widely, her pearly white teeth almost glinting off the reflection of the mirrors above the sink. Ella liked Evie, but she was a little too straightforward for her, and that made her nervous. Then again, if she could handle Dallas Winston during tutoring sessions, she was almost certain that she could handle anyone, not that Evie was anything like the blond hood.

With a sigh, the brown-headed girl finger-combed her bushy locks before wrapping her hair up in a messy bun, a dull look on her face as she glanced once at Evie, wondering how she found herself in these situations.

* * *

Dallas felt like a damn pansy carrying around an art book at Mrs. Girdlé's insistence that he bring it home with him to expand his research or whatever she had said about getting a heads up for her latest assignment that she'd be announcing next week. He felt more than relieved when he ran into Ponyboy, thrusting the book in his hands and telling him to put it in his locker. The kid had given him an annoyed look, but he didn't bother to make a comment.

Steve approached the two from across the hall, an aggravated expression plastered on his face. "I hate midterms," he stated, shaking his head. "And I hate Mr. Connelly even more."

Ponyboy raised an eyebrow. "Is everything okay?"

The older teen shot him a look. "Everything's mighty fine, kid."

With a frown, the redheaded boy didn't bother to inquire. He didn't like Steve all that much to begin with, so he merely shut his trap and kept his thoughts to himself. Besides, he and Dallas were already falling in step with Two-Bit, who had sauntered on up to the group, yapping away about Mrs. Develin no longer hating his guts, having wished him luck on his morning exam. Ponyboy had rolled his eyes, wishing they were already at the DX.

Stopping at Steve's car, the three older teens kicked back and lit up, and Ponyboy placed his hands inside his pockets, curiously asking what they were waiting for.

Two-Bit smiled, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Waitin' on Evie."

And they didn't wait long, however, they were surprised to see Ella Mitchell accompanying Steve Randle's girlfriend, and Ponyboy didn't miss the stunned expression on Dallas's face as the two girls walked toward them, seemingly engrossed in some girly conversation that none of the guys wanted to partake in.

"What's she doin' here?" Dallas questioned, though his voice wasn't resentful.

Ella's eyes lowered. "Evie invited me . . . if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," the younger girl stated, giving her boyfriend a quick look. "Ain't it, Stevie?"

Steve rolled his eyes, climbing into the driver's seat. "Whatever. Let's go already, huh?"

Dallas and Ponyboy crammed up front beside Steve while Two-Bit and the girls got in the backseat, Ella somehow winding up in the middle, a look of pure discomfort on her pale face. She could see Ponyboy giving her an apologetic expression through the rear-view mirror, and she cast her eyes to the floor, wishing that she hadn't agreed to go at all.

* * *

Soda had only spoken to Ella Mitchell once in all of the times he had seen or heard about her. One thing was absolutely certain, though—she did not fit in. Ponyboy had been rambling on about his midterm exam that morning while Dallas stood off to the side with Two-Bit, talking to some other greaser he knew, and Steve and Evie were sharing a bottle of Pepsi while the former chewed away on a candy bar.

Ella stood off to the side, not bothering to speak to anyone at all, and Soda actually felt bad for the girl, but he figured that she was just shy. Then again, from the way he had spoken to her that one night at the grocery store, she had seemed sociable enough. Pressing his lips together, he looked back at his younger brother, who had turned to toss his candy wrapper in the garbage.

"She okay?" he asked, nodding once to Ella.

Pony shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"She seems awfully lonely over there," Soda pointed out, brows pulling together. "Say, why don't you invite her over for dinner next week or something?"

The younger boy nearly gagged on his drink. "What?"

Sure they were friends, but invite her over for dinner? Soda couldn't be serious, could he? The look on his face told Ponyboy that he was, in fact, serious, but he couldn't understand why. He liked Ella, he did, but there weren't many girls that he and his brothers ever entertained. When Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were alive, Sandy had come to the house several times for dinner, and so had Darry's former girlfriends, but Ella was only a friend from school, not a _close_ friend, or a relative, or a girlfriend.

Soda's eyes softened. "Ain't you and her friends?"

"Yeah, I suppose so, but I'm not sure if that's a good idea," he admitted, and at his older brother's expression, continued on in a lower voice. "She's Dallas's tutor, and they're hardly friends—"

"I know," Soda said, cutting in. "But I think it would be a nice gesture. She's been good to you, Ponyboy, hasn't she?"

The younger teen nodded. "Yeah, alright." And then he smirked. "But you're asking her."

"Fine."

Ella stared out the front window of the DX, nibbling her bottom lip. Usually, she was content being by herself, but right then she felt out of place, as if she didn't belong. She watched Two-Bit and Dallas shake hands with some guy clad in ripped up jeans and a leather jacket, while everyone else went about their separate ways, leaving her to stand off to the side like a bump on a log. With a sigh, she turned on her heel, about to roam around the store to kill some time, but came face to face with Soda and Ponyboy, the former offering her a polite smile while the latter stood awkwardly behind him by a step or two.

"Me an' Ponyboy here were wondering if you were busy next Friday evening," Soda said, leaning on the wall beside her. "See, we wanted to invite you to our house for dinner for helping out with Dallas and Ponyboy, if you'd like to stop by."

Ella felt her cheeks heating up immensely. "Oh, that's real thoughtful of you both, but I'm not sure if I can make it Friday night." Her eyes lowered. "I usually tutor Dallas after school and then head to work straight after. Friday is usually a busy day for me."

"Well," Soda said, nudging Ponyboy, "if you ain't busy or nothin', we'd be more than happy to have you stop by, savvy?"

Ella smiled, nodding as her eyes met Ponyboy's. She imagined herself eating dinner at the Curtis's, having never seen or been to their house. She knew that they had an older brother, and she wondered if he would be there, or what he'd be like. Some part of her wanted to accept the invitation, but on the other hand, she knew she would immediately feel out of place the moment she stepped through their door.

* * *

Dallas scowled down at the math exam in front of himself. He hated tests, hated school work, and more than anything, he loathed school in general. Being confined to a classroom for an entire exam focused on geometry wasn't doing much to make him feel better, either, and his frown only deepened when his gaze fell on the clock, an ugly reminder that there were still a total of two hours left until the end.

Returning his attention to the test, he tried to remember what Ella had taught him about coordinates and planes, and how to solve the stupid equations. Speaking of Dopey, he envisioned her sitting in her own math class taking the very same exam that he was right then, a smirk crossing his lips. She was good at math, but she wasn't exactly an expert at it, either, and he imagined her concentrating so hard that her hair was becoming all static-y and frizzy, like Einstein's or some shit.

The teen glowered as his thoughts shifted back to the problem in front of him on the test booklet. With a bitter expression, he pressed his lips into a thin line, attempting to concentrate on the fucking thing all to no avail. His eyes scanned the rest of the problems below, wondering if he and Ella had even went over half of them, because he was certain they hadn't, and now he was shit out of luck. Glory, there was a time when he wouldn't have even given a shit about school work, but here he was, sitting in a classroom for two and half hours working on a math midterm, or at least trying to.

Wiping his white-blond hair out of his eyes, Dallas ground his teeth together, once again glaring up at the clock—twenty fucking minutes had past and he'd only accomplished four problems. He glanced at the booklet again, sneering at the words in the boxed section beneath the problem itself. _Show your work._ Oh, yeah, he had something to show alright. How about a nicely detailed _Fuck You_ scribbled in it, because he was half-tempted to write just that.

Pressing the pencil to the answer sheet, the blond colored in one of the bubbles, the pressure from his frustration causing the tip to snap.

"Fuck," he muttered, causing a few students to glare back at him while others snickered. His teacher, though, didn't find his language all that humorous, but he managed to feel kind enough to replace his broken pencil, shaking his head as he walked back to his desk.

Dallas inwardly cringed, wondering if he would lose his fucking mind before the exam time was even over with.

* * *

Ella waited by the T-Bird after school that day, arms crossed over her chest as her eyes shifted around for Dallas. She had a funny feeling that the hood would be in a particularly sour mood, and when she spotted him making his way out of the school, his face contorted in sheer aggravation, she knew that her assumptions were correct.

"How'd it go?" she asked once he was close to the car, her voice careful, as to not upset him more than what he appeared to be.

He scowled. "Fucking terrific. What, did you wait here just to ask me that?"

The girl shrugged, pushing herself away from the T-Bird. "I wanted to ask how you think you did. You seemed awfully confident this morning."

Dallas could have whacked her upside the head, had she been one of the guys, but he settled for taking a vocal jab at her instead. Sure, he was pretty certain of himself that morning, but that was before he had been forced to sit with his art teacher for two hours studying the likes of Van Gogh, a sadder excuse for a human being than what he'd ever been. Whatever Mrs. Girdlé had been trying to drill into his brain wasn't sinking in, because he sure as hell couldn't find any similarities between himself and Van Gogh.

"What about you, your highness?" he asked, looking her over. "You seemed quite sure of yourself, that you would do just fine with your own tests."

Her lips thinned as she stared back at him. "And I'm sure that I did."

"Yeah," he said, moving toward the driver's side of the vehicle. "That all?"

Ella's face dropped a little. "I guess."

"Then I'll see you around," he bit out, climbing into the car before she could say anything else. He didn't look back at her, either, as he pulled out of the spot and headed toward the main road.

 _School days, school days_

 _I'm older now and what will I find about my_

 _School day, school days_

 _I'm starting to slip, I'm losin' my mind_

* * *

 **A tremendous _Thank You_ for all of the feedback on this story! :3**

 **Evie's last name "Martin" belongs to the incredibly talented _AndThatWasEnough_!**


	38. Don't Worry

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Beach Boys own "Don't Worry Baby."**

* * *

 _Well it's been building up inside of me_

 _For oh I don't know how long_

 _I don't know why_

 _But I keep thinking_

 _Something's bound to go wrong_

 **March 17 – 18, 1966**

Dallas stared at the book Mrs. Girdlé had given him the week earlier. As promised, the class had been working on her latest project of interpreting their given artist's works. Dallas wasn't a fan of art, never had been, but to get the woman off his back, he'd been attempting to make an effort in class. He just fucking hated every moment of it, wishing more than anything that the week would be over with.

The blond wasn't really able to figure out exactly what ol' Girdlé meant when she'd suggested that he and Van Gogh had anything in common, and he sure as hell wasn't able to make any comparisons, unless she was suggesting that the two of them were poor and used suicide as an escape. Well, if that was the wisdom behind her words, she could just fuck off.

The door to the teen's room opened, Cherie Peters stepping through, her eyes narrowed as she stared at him with a cross expression. Dallas glanced over at the girl with a cool look; he wasn't in the mood to deal with her or her bullshit. He thought he'd lost her at the bar, but then again, he should have known better than to think he could ever lose the bitch—Cherie was clingier than a fucking whore looking for a good time, Christ a'mighty.

"Whatta ya want?" he asked, shoving the book under the bed, his voice level.

Cherie crossed her arms over her chest, left hip jutting out as she shifted her weight. "I was lookin' for _you_ , sugar. I've missed ya."

Dally rolled his eyes. "Too bad. I ain't interested in yer company tonight, so beat it."

But Cherie was ever persistent, as always. She strutted in his direction, a pout on her cherry red lips, eyes wide and innocent looking, although she was anything but. She stood in front of him, placing her palms against his shoulders, moving her legs around his as she pressed her thighs against them. Her chin lowered as she stared down at him, and he merely looked back her, blue eyes icy.

"Dally," she whined, hands squeezing his shoulders. "Don't be such a drag." And then her lips were beside his ear, and he could smell her fruity perfume. "You know I'll make it up to you, baby."

His fingers were wrapped around her wrists before she could blink, and she found herself forcibly shoved back; if not for his tightened grip around her thin skin, she would have fallen back on her bottom, but Dallas didn't care, he was irked.

"The fuck don't you understand about me not being interested in your company, huh?" he asked, pushing her away from him as he stood. He pointed to the door, teeth grinding together as he gave her a harsh glare. "Get the fuck out."

He didn't need to ask again.

* * *

Ella smiled as Ponyboy sat down across from her in the library Friday afternoon. The two of them had been getting along exceptionally well, becoming more friendly as the days dragged on. Ella found herself relaxing more and more around the younger boy, letting her guard up with ease now that she considered him a friend. Still, even though she had agreed earlier in the week to have dinner at his house that particular evening, she felt a little nervous.

Ponyboy flipped through his history textbook. "I hate getting homework over the weekend."

The girl nodded in agreement, chewing on an apple slice. "I always try to finish mine during lunch, but sometimes when I'm tutoring Dallas, I'll finish up whatever I have left over."

"How's that been going?" came the curious inquiry. "The tutoring, I mean."

Shrugging, Ella's eyes moved to her lap. She didn't want to tell Ponyboy that her sessions with Dallas had been difficult for her, she couldn't. It wasn't that Dallas himself was being difficult, which was a surprise in itself. The problem was that she was attempting to conceal her feelings around him, but she had nearly slipped a few times. Unfortunately, she wasn't all that good at trying to keep her cool around him, and her emotions sometimes got the better of her and she would lightly lash out.

Dallas, though, was coming a long way. He still teased her and took jabs at her whenever the opportunity presented itself, but he wasn't as harsh as he used to be. Ponyboy had smiled when Ella told him that a few days back, stating that Dallas usually lightened up around people he knew, and Ella herself was no exception.

"It's going, I guess," she responded after a minute.

"Well, I'm glad Dally ain't been giving you a hard time anymore."

"Yeah."

What Ella didn't admit was the fact that she almost missed Winston's nasty and insufferable behavior, especially when it was directed at her, because she was certain that if he still acted that way toward her, she would have a harder time liking him. Sometimes, she seriously considered doing something to put him in a bad mood, but she couldn't bring herself to do so.

Pony's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "How do you think he did on the midterms?"

The girl licked her lips. "I'm not sure. I know he was struggling with math, but I think he might have done well." She smirked at that. "He was confident."

"Dally's always confident," he pointed out, although it wasn't said with disdain. "Well, I hope for his sake that he did alright."

A nod. "Me, too."

* * *

Ella made her way to the guidance office later that afternoon. She thought about her conversation with Ponyboy for a while as she contemplated his words. She remembered how confident Dallas was for the exams the other week, but when she'd seen him afterward, he had appeared more irritated than anything. Since that afternoon, neither one of them had bothered to mention anything regarding the midterms, and Ella was left to wonder if Dallas was being truthful or not.

The only thing the girl could think about, though, was that Dallas's grades were her responsibility, and they had been since the beginning of the school year. Ever since Ponyboy had brought up the exams during their lunch period, Ella kept wondering what would happen if Dallas failed. The girl was smart enough to know that the tests didn't get graded until Spring break, which was a week away, but the nagging thought of Dallas's possible failure was clouding her mind with each passing second.

Entering the guidance office, the brown-haired girl made her way toward the back, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact with anyone. Fortunately, there was only one secretary sitting behind the main desk in the office, but she was too busy talking on the phone, and Ella's presence had gone unnoticed. The teen quickened her steps the closer she got to the back room where the tests were kept before they were graded. The closer she got to the door, the more rapid her heartbeat became, and for a moment, she thought that it might just beat right through her chest.

Taking a breath, the teen opened the door and slipped inside, flicking the light on in the storage room with ease. Her eyes scanned the boxes that were placed on the back table, searching for the senior records and student files. Once she found what she was looking for, she set to work, looking through the alphabetized exams. She felt somewhat disgusted with herself for doing such a thing, and it reminded her of that day back in November when she had gone and snooped through Dallas's personal file.

It took a few minutes, but Ella was able to find the boy's exam, and her breathing seemed to stop as her eyes broadened. Grabbing it, she flipped through the pages of his answer booklet, wondering how much trouble she would be in if she were caught. Glory, she was certain that Mr. Davis would expel her for sure, and she wondered why in the hell she was even taking a risk like this to begin with. But then her guilt seemed to resurface as she thought about Dallas's potential failure. Would it be her fault?

She stopped at the math section, chest seeming to tighten with each passing second. Biting her lip, Ella made a hasty decision, one she wouldn't have ever considered several months ago. In the back of her mind, she kept asking herself why she was doing this, why she was trying to help out the towheaded delinquent more than what he deserved. It couldn't just be her possible guilt at his potential failure, could it? But Ella told herself that's exactly what it was, because that was the only thing she was sure she was concerned about—Dallas's failure.

What would happen to him if he failed?

The girl inwardly cringed, and with a shake of her head, she searched the other box for her own test booklet. Her tongue felt thick inside of her mouth, her stomach knotting up as she stared down at the two exams in front of her on the table, wondering if she was really going to do this or not.

But her mind was made up before she entered the room, and without another thought, Ella switched the two booklets before placing the exams back in the boxes and exiting the room without a second thought of what she had done.

* * *

"You're really going to the Curtis's place tonight?" Dallas asked, brows raising as he looked at the girl beside him. He'd heard from Steve, who had been told from Soda that he and Ponyboy had invited her to the house a week ago while they were at the DX. "Huh?"

Ella shifted in the passenger seat, feeling her cheeks heating up. "Yeah."

The blond stared at her for a minute. "What's your deal, girl?"

"Nothing," she replied, attempting to make her voice level. She had felt anxious ever since she'd swapped Dallas's exam with her own. "I don't— It's nothing." She stopped herself before she could say anything. She didn't want to say that she didn't feel good, as she had plans to show up at Ponyboy's later that evening.

Fortunately for Ella, she didn't have work that afternoon, which she was both happy and slightly annoyed about. She was a little excited to be having dinner with the Curtis family, having hardly been invited anywhere without something other than herself being the reason for the invite. Still, even with her excitement of spending the evening with a friend, it didn't stop the girl from feeling so on edge with the thoughts of what had taken place that afternoon.

Dallas was looking at her curiously. Ella was never one to hold back anything that she had to say, especially when provoked, so he figured that something was bugging her. Still, he wasn't the type to ask outright, but he knew plenty of other ways to get her to open her mouth. He preferred the temperamental and fiery side of her personality, but for the past few weeks, she had been nothing but nervous, frigid, and wired.

"Don't bullshit me, broad," he responded, knowing the term had always aggravated her. "The hell crawled up your skirt, huh?"

Ella felt sick, and she was certain that her cheeks were reddening. "I told you it's nothing, Winston." She ground her teeth. "And don't call me _broad_."

"Whatever, your highness," the blond said, a bored tone in his voice as he returned his attention to the literature book Ella had given him. He shot her a quick look, the side of his lips curling. "Whatever happened to calling me _hood_? Thought that was yer signature nickname for me or somethin'."

"Alright, _hood_ , shut your trap and do your work," she bit out, jerking her body toward the door so that her back was facing him. "Quit bothering me."

But Dallas didn't retreat. "You gonna show up at the Curtis's with that attitude?" His voice was mocking, and the girl winced slightly. "Because I'm pretty sure Darrel won't hesitate to split your mouth the other way if ya talk to him like that."

Ella's teeth were grinding hardly against each other, and she wished that Dallas would just shut up already, but she knew that he wouldn't. _Of course_ he wouldn't. He knew that she was upset and aggravated about something, so he was going to do everything in his power to try and work her up some more, but she wasn't having it. She had done him a favor—one he didn't exactly have knowledge of—and she didn't want to deal with his childish behavior.

"Just please leave me alone," she breathed, shoulders slumping down. She didn't understand why or how Dallas made her feel so many different emotions—anger, annoyance, giddiness—but he did, and sometimes she felt like she didn't have any control over herself or her feelings. "Please, Dallas."

The blond offered her a quizzical stare, not missing the lethargy in her tone. "You've been different," he decided to point out, dropping the textbook between them on the seat. He fished around his pockets for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting up casually. "Real different."

Ella had turned by then, her eyes wide. "What?"

Dallas's look was hard. "Yeah," he went on, rolling the window down. "Ever since you came at me that one afternoon—like you had some personality change or some shit."

The girl felt her chest tightening. She hadn't realized that she had been acting differently, but if Dallas was noticing, she was certain a lot of other people had, too. It wasn't that she was concerned that they had noticed her changing behavior, but golly, if they ever found out the reason behind it, Ella would just about die of humiliation.

She licked her lips, coming up with an excuse. "Well, excuse me, but after everything that's happened this school year—"

He cut her off. "With your boyfriend?"

"He isn't my boyfriend," she broke in, her voice coming out harsher than what she expected. Sighing, she leaned back in the seat, pressing her eyes closed for a minute. "But yes, Craig had a lot to do with it, I guess." And that wasn't a complete lie, she told herself.

Dallas stared ahead, a contemptuous look on his face. He didn't really understand Ella—not really at least. He had been cheated on numerous of times, even cheated on girls himself, but with Ella reacting the way she was just then, he assumed that the girl never really dated or had been around. Some part of him, and he wasn't quite sure why, actually dug that about her. In the same token, he was reminded that those characteristics were part of the reason that he _didn't_ like her.

Unsure of what to say, he tossed his pack of smokes in her direction. "Smoke one, it'll do ya good."

Ella's expression was one of bafflement. "I thought you said that I looked stupid."

The blond smirked a little, knowing that she was referring to her smoking. Still, he just had to get one good jab in at her. "I ain't lookin' at ya."

* * *

Ponyboy finished setting the table, glancing once at Soda who was mixing together the ingredients of their mom's infamous chocolate cake. The younger teen cringed a little, watching as his older brother poured some extra sugar into the batter, and he suddenly wished Darry would hurry up with his shower so he'd be out in time to make the icing. It's not that Ponyboy didn't like Soda's version of their mother's chocolate icing, but he always sweetened it too much— _way_ too much.

Soda's eyebrows raised as he looked over at his kid brother. "What?"

Ponyboy, deciding that he really didn't want to deal with over-sugared cake icing that evening or the next morning, nodded to the bowl. "Darry's making the icing this time."

"And just what's wrong with mine?" Soda asked, faking offense. He licked the spoon he was stirring the cake batter with. "You never had a problem before."

"You sweeten it too much."

The golden-haired teen shrugged. "Well, I think it tastes just fine." Pouring the mixture into the heating trays, he continued. "When's Ella gonna git here?"

A shrug. "She told me close to seven."

"You sure she's coming?"

Ponyboy shot him a look. "She said she'd be here, Soda."

In truth, Ponyboy was slightly nervous about having Ella Mitchell as a guest for dinner. It wasn't that he didn't want her around or in the house, but he felt . . . weird about it. On the other hand, Soda seemed rather excited, going on about Ponyboy actually having a friend that was both a girl and a good influence. When the oldest Curtis brother had heard the news about Soda talking their kid brother into inviting the girl over for dinner, he seemed a little stunned, but Ponyboy was certain there had been some form of underlying amusement in his expression, too.

Pony had spent the evening after school cleaning the house up a little, trying to make it appear less like Two-Bit Mathews had been there recently. The teen had found empty beer bottles that had somehow disappeared in the cushions of their couch, cards under the coffee table, and crumbs littering the couch and floor. He couldn't imagine the look on Ella's face if she sat down on the couch on top of a beer bottle. Thing was, Ponyboy never minded his friends stopping in, or other guys in the neighborhood using their house as a place to lay over, but something about a decent girl coming over for dinner made him feel like the place needed to be cleaned up, and he wasn't the only one, either.

Speaking of which . . .

Darry stepped into the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his neck where tiny droplets of water from his wet hair splattered down onto it. He looked once at Ponyboy, before his gaze drifted in the direction of Sodapop, who was attempting to balance both cake bowls and place them inside the oven.

"You made two cakes?" he questioned, the shock in his voice not concealed.

The middle brother nodded. "Sure did. Y'all know how quickly it goes in this house." Once the trays were safely in the oven, he turned to face Darry. "Don't worry, Darry, I can get more of the ingredients if we run low."

"That ain't the point."

A knock on the door pulled the three boys from their conversation, and Ponyboy perked up a little, although his face flushed at the same time. He could only imagine how Ella was feeling right then—probably more nervous than him.

He made his way to the door, opening it and feeling strange. It did feel almost foreign to be answering the door in his house—mostly, everyone just waltzed on in like they owned the place. Then again, their parents always left the door unlocked in case any of the guys needed a place to stay during the night, and Darry had only followed their tradition.

Ella stood on the other side, a soft smile on her face. "Sorry I'm late."

"Actually, you're right on time," Ponyboy replied, inviting her in. "It's seven o'clock on the dot."

The brown-haired teen blushed, following her friend into the kitchen. Soda was the first to greet her vocally, before Darrel Curtis stuck his hand out politely and introduced himself. Ella felt her stomach twisting up a little, unused to being a guest anywhere, especially in a house of three boys. It wasn't that she was uncomfortable, but it was a new and foreign feeling altogether. The radio playing lowly in the background calmed the girl's nerves a little, and once the three were seated at the table—Soda bringing a bowl of mashed potatoes over—Ella felt herself relax even more.

Darry nodded to her. "Ella, is it?" At her nod, he continued, spooning some peas onto his plate. "Real nice to meet you finally. I've heard nothing but good things." Across the table, Ponyboy felt his ears growing hot, and Soda smirked.

Ella smiled gently, wondering if Dallas and Ponyboy had been tossing her name around. "You, too, Darrel, and likewise."

The older boy grinned. "I heard Dallas has become something of an actual . . . almost graduate. You must be awfully patient."

She bit her lip. "Well, it's not always easy, I'll admit, but he's come a long way." Her eyes shifted in Ponyboy's direction, and the younger teen, picking up on her discomfort, changed the subject.

"Thankfully, Spring break is just around the corner . . ."

* * *

Dallas had better nights. He wasn't in the mood to work the bar that night, and he really wasn't in the fucking mood to deal with Buck Merril's shit, either. For once, the lanky cowboy was sober, well sober enough anyway, and he apparently had some stick shoved up his ass—again—because he was going on and on about the teenage delinquent using his car.

"You ain't takin' her," Buck said again, this time more firmly. He stood his ground. "I got places to be tomorrow, kid, and I don't need yer ass—"

Dallas cut him off, an edge in his gruff voice. "Fuck you, man."

The older man stepped in front of him. "When you start paying the bills on that car, then you can tell me when yer gonna use her, that clear?" He shook his head, a toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth. "I do enough for you as it is, Winston. 'Sides, rodeo season is only a few weeks away, so if ya wanna work with me again, I suggest ya git yer ass in shape."

The blond ground his teeth, passing Buck with a bump to the shoulder. Truthfully, he had been looking forward to rodeo season—if there was anything that he enjoyed doing, it was jockeying, and he couldn't wait to get himself back there again. Ironically, Dallas was no fan of the Summer—hated it, in fact—but just the thought of horse racing could put him in a decent enough mood.

His fondness of horses was something he and Soda Curtis had in common, a trait nobody else seemed to really understand. Speaking of the rodeo, Dallas couldn't wait to hear what his art teacher had to say about his latest project. She was so set on him presenting her with something that had to do with a jean jacket, but this time, he decided to give her something else, something he was sure would draw—no pun intended—her attention away from her fictitious belief of him having a fondness for said apparel.

"Dally," came a familiar voice, or whine, rather. "Dally, wait!"

The blond nearly rolled his eyes as he turned back to face Cherie Peters. Sure, he had agreed to make her his girl the other week, but he really wasn't in it for the entire relationship part—no, he liked her because she was a decent fuck, nothing else.

"What?"

She stood on the step below him, one brow raising with curiosity. "You lookin' for some company tonight, sugar?"

Lighting up a cigarette, he stared at her through the smoke he exhaled. "Depends. What did ya have in mind?"

And just like that, the girl's lips were pressed beside his ear, brushing the sensitive skin as she spoke soft words, one hand reaching up to play with the hairs on the nape of his neck while the other trailed down his chest slowly. It only took a few seconds or so before the blond was pulling her along to his room, all previous thoughts forgotten in the back of his mind.

The door was slammed shut a moment later.

* * *

Later that night, Ella sat beside Ponyboy on his porch steps, the two in a comfortable silence while they both smoked leisurely. Ponyboy had been nearly surprised to learn that the girl was still smoking, but she had informed him that she'd only just recently picked up the habit . . . again. She found that smoking calmed her nerves somewhat, even if it was a filthy habit to have—she had scolded Dallas enough times as it was, and here she was being a hypocrite.

Ponyboy's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You still upset about Craig?"

Ella's eyes flashed in his direction, remembering her conversation with Dallas that afternoon. "Well, I suppose I am. Why?"

A shrug. "Curious, I guess. I mean, I know you liked him an' all, and what he did was . . . well, it was wrong."

"But it was against you, Ponyboy," she replied, voice low. "George could have suggested anyone to Mr. Davis to tutor Dallas, but he didn't." She sighed. "I'm still not sure why he chose me out of every other student in our grade."

"I'm just sorry it happened."

"Me, too."

Deep down, Ella knew why George Clayton had chosen her—she was an easy target. She was a loner, she didn't have many friends, and well, she was an outcast among outcasts. She didn't fit in anywhere and she knew it, and that was why she would be easy to get over on. George and Craig had played her so easily, but what hurt the most was the fact that for once in her entire life, she actually felt like she was somebody, that she wasn't alone, that she had friends.

Now she was back to square one all over again. In some way, she was alright with that—it was easier to be alone than to get caught up with everyone's messes, or end up in another predicament similar to the one she had been in several weeks back.

"Can I ask you something?" Ponyboy questioned, dropping his cigarette butt. He didn't bother to look at her, instead keeping his focus straight ahead. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, though, it is a little personal."

Ella shrugged. "Sure."

The younger teen breathed slowly, resting his arms on his knees. "Do you like Dally?"

"Well, he's still obnoxious, and—"

"No," he cut in, shaking his head. "I mean, do you _like_ him?"

The girl felt her face heating up, wondering why Ponyboy would be asking her that question. Had she been too obvious? Glory, she had told herself plenty of times that she didn't like the towheaded hoodlum at all, that he was despicable, gross, not good for her, dirty, rotten . . .

"Why do you ask?" she countered, licking her lips nervously.

His gaze fell on her, then. "Just wondering."

"I—"

But Ella never had a chance to answer, because at that precise moment, Sodapop came bounding out of the house announcing that there was chocolate cake for dessert, his bubbly countenance causing the other two teenagers to forget their conversation as they walked inside, the music from the radio echoing around the living room.

 _Don't worry baby_

 _Don't worry baby_

 _Don't worry baby_

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! :3**


	39. Be Brave

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Corrs own "Baby Be Brave."**

* * *

 _But baby be brave cause what's the point of it all_

 _What's the point of it all, yeah_

 **April 6, 1966**

Spring break came and went quicker than what Ella would have liked, and she wasn't exactly having a good first week back at Will Rogers High School. So far, she had found out that the midterms had been graded—which she already expected—and she had learned that her ex-boyfriend, Craig, was currently in a relationship with Jane Sloane, one of the most popular girls in their grade. It had actually hurt her a little when she saw the two of them walking down the hall hand-in-hand, Craig's class ring secured around Jane's neck, and she had to force herself to look away.

On the other hand, she hadn't been able to let her conversation with Ponyboy rest. She had a feeling that the younger teen knew about her feelings for Dallas—obviously he had, or he wouldn't have inquired that night when they sat on his porch together. The girl still felt off about the entire thing, unsure of how to even admit her feelings to herself. She had seen Dallas and Cherie Peters together several times over the past few weeks, increasingly so during the week of Spring break, and the more that she thought about their relationship together, the more jealous that she became.

She kept telling herself that it wasn't jealousy, because she _didn't_ want to like Dallas Winston. Perhaps, if she kept repeating that mantra to herself, it would eventually come true. She didn't want to like the blond hood; she found him awful to be perfectly honest, so what were those godawful feelings swarming around in the very pit of her stomach, or the fuzziness she felt in her head, or that tightening sensation in her chest every time she saw or spoke to him?

Oh, blast it, she thought, inwardly cursing everything under the sun.

"Hey, Ella," a voice called out, causing the girl to jerk around to see who had called her. A surprised, but not shocked, look formed on her face when she saw Evie approaching her.

She smiled. "Hi, Evie."

The dark-haired girl stopped beside her, clutching her books to her chest. "You busy after school today? I was thinkin' maybe we could hangout . . ."

While Evie trailed on, Ella was left to wonder why Evie had suddenly taken such an interest in her recently. Sure, Evie had helped her out in the beginning of the year and all, and they had become somewhat friendly, but Ella wasn't sure if they were actually _friends_. Over the past two weeks—right after the midterms—Evie had been talking to Ella a lot, even invited her to her house multiple times to talk and just hangout.

Ella was flattered, honestly she was, but she couldn't help but feel a little weird. Of course she liked Evie, thought she was a nice girl, and she really appreciated her hair-help every now and again, so she figured it had something to do with the fact that she wasn't . . . used to having female friends, or friends at all really.

Still, she nodded, a small smile curving her lips up. "Well, I'm tutoring Dallas Winston after school, but I can stop by your house this evening if you're not busy . . ."

Evie's eyes lit up. "Yeah, sure thing!"

* * *

"Hey, Curtis!"

Ponyboy closed his locker, brows raising as he looked at Curly Shepard standing there, the older teen wearing a look of smugness, as if being back in the high school was a joke in itself. Ponyboy hadn't seen the middle Shepard sibling since last Summer, and the last he had heard, Curly had gotten himself locked up for breaking into the liquor store downtown, or at least, that was what Tim had said. It was almost a shock to see Curly standing there in the flesh, though.

"How's it going, Curly?" he asked, his voice casual.

The darker-haired boy shrugged, face screwing up. "I'm on probation, same ol', I guess." He inhaled sharply, wiping at his nose. "Fuckin' judge says I gotta attend school for the last two months, although I ain't sure what good it'll do. I was thinkin' of just skippin' out and sentencing myself to another few months in the slammer, ya know?"

"Sure," Pony replied as the two fell in step. He liked Curly well enough, but sometimes, he just really couldn't understand his way of thinking. He was always trying to be like his older brother, Tim, but when it came to being smart, he just lacked any definition of the word. "When did you get out?"

"Last week." Jamming his hands inside his pockets, he looked down at the younger teen. "Say, how're you holdin' up?"

A shrug. "As good as I can around here."

"Heard about your friend, the Cade kid," Curly muttered, for once sounding almost sincere. "Some guys that got locked up were sayin' some shit. Sorry about him by the way, but good goin' with knifing that Soc. I would have done it myself . . ."

Ponyboy glanced at him for a moment, remembering how Tim and Dallas both had thought it was tuff that Johnny had killed Bob Sheldon, and hearing Curly echoing their words made a sick feeling drop in his gut. He didn't like being reminded of that night, or what had taken place, and he really didn't like thinking about Bob Sheldon, either, especially since the issue with George Clayton.

Looking at Curly, though, he knew that he was going to end up just like his brother, only less smart about things—he was going to be one of those guys that grew up to be an old hood, never getting out of their shitty town and never moving on with life. The thought alone caused the younger boy to shudder a little—he couldn't imagine being stuck in their town forever, glory. But guys like Tim Shepard and Curly Shepard, and the guys in the lower outfits . . . they would always be that—the guys in the lower outfits, never moving on, never making anything of themselves, never giving themselves the chance.

As Ponyboy and Curly parted ways, the former was left to wonder what his life would be like in ten or twenty years.

* * *

Steve lit up a cigarette, inhaling deeply as he stared straight ahead. With the Spring weather settling in and the trees blooming, his nose was itching terribly and he sounded like he had a cold. He couldn't stand it—he sounded like a blasted pansy whenever he spoke, something Two-Bit was enjoying a little too much. Golly, he hated the fucking Spring—hated it more than any other season because it took advantage of his sinuses like that.

At that precise minute, Dallas and Ponyboy walked up to Steve's car, a scowl on the blond's face as he glared ahead at nothing in particular. Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn't bother to question the hood; if Dally had a beef with something, he wasn't shy about letting it be publicly known. He inwardly cringed at the sight of Ponyboy, though, wishing that the kid would spend more of his lunch period with the Mitchell girl—something Evie had taken an interest in doing as of late.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Steve asked, nodding toward Ponyboy. Ever since the the younger teen had started hanging around Ella, Steve had referred to her as his girlfriend, knowing how much it annoyed him. "Ain't you spending lunch with her anymore?"

The kid gave him a cocky look. "Could ask you the same thing about Evie."

The older teen's eyes blazed for a second; that fucking kid was getting mouthier every day, he was certain of it. "You watch your trap, kid."

"Yeah," he muttered in return, but his voice was slightly sarcastic. Instead, he went on about Dallas's tutor. "Ella is in the guidance office, said she got a slip in homeroom this morning to meet with Mrs. Philips." His lips pressed together. "She didn't seem too happy about it."

At that information, Dallas looked at him, wondering what Mrs. Philips could want with Ella, a looming thought in the back of his mind telling him that it most likely had to do with tutoring him. His jaw clenched a little. He hated Mrs. Philips, and ever since she had spoken to him a few weeks ago about the exams, insinuating that he was too dumb to pass them, he despised the shit out of her, more so than the fucking Socs, which was saying a lot. Then again, Dallas never did well with any authoritative figure, and Mrs. Philips Screwdriver was no exception.

"Who the hell would be happy about seeing that bitch?" he decided to ask, wrinkling his nose in utter disgust.

"Maybe it's about the midterm exams."

The blond sneered. "Yeah, I'll bet."

Steve decided to change the topic just then, voicing his earlier thoughts. "Speaking of Ella Mitchell, Evie's been hangin' around her an awful lot."

"Is that a bad thing?" Two-Bit asked, sauntering up to the trio with a grin, hands stuffed inside his leather jacket pockets.

The dark-haired teen inwardly cringed at the jacket, the warm sun beating on his back. "No. I don't mind, if that's what you're gettin' at. I mean, hell, Ella's probably one of the more . . . _nicer_ chicks that Evie hangs around."

Dallas snorted. " _Too_ nice."

Ponyboy's chin lowered as he looked down at the gravel, a distant look in his green orbs. He liked Ella, considered her a friend, especially with how close they'd gotten. Knowing her feelings—even though she hadn't directly admitted them aloud—about Dallas made him feel . . . well, made him feel _sorry_ for her. Something about the situation reminded him of Cherry Valance, and remembering his own thoughts regarding the red-headed girl, he knew that Dallas would never love Ella back. He almost felt embarrassed for her.

Two-Bit changed the topic. "Y'all see Curly Shepard around? Heard he was back in school."

Pony nodded, lighting up a cigarette. "Yeah, saw him earlier at my locker. Said he's on some kind of probation and has to finish up the last two months of school. Judge's orders."

Steve scratched the back of his head, running his tongue over his teeth. "Well, how about that, huh?" A sigh. "Another friend for you to buddy around with."

The younger teen's eyes flashed in his direction, but he didn't bother to respond.

* * *

Ella sat in Mrs. Philips's office with an expression of sheer worry. She knew why she had been called down, and no part of her was looking forward to her visit with the counselor. She half-expected Dallas to be there, but he wasn't, and some piece of her felt relieved about that. Still, she would be seeing him later that afternoon, so whatever news she received today would depend on her mood then—she just hoped that it wasn't bad.

Mrs. Philips entered the room a minute later, closing the door and moving to seat herself behind her desk. Something about the woman seemed different, but Ella wasn't able to put her finger on it, and besides, she had never paid too much attention to Mrs. Philips to begin with. With a soft sigh, the woman adjusted her glasses and smoothed her skirt down, reaching for a manila folder on her desk which was located under a black binder fully loaded with papers.

"How are you, Miss Mitchell?" Mrs. Philips inquired, not bothering to spare her a glance.

Ella shifted in the seat. "I'm fine, thanks."

It took a minute or so for Mrs. Philips to find what she was searching for, and all the while, Ella kept twiddling her fingers in her lap, an anxious look in her blue eyes. She wished more than anything that the older woman could just say what she needed to—the prolonged apprehension was driving her nuts.

Finally, as if the Lord himself had heard her thoughts, the woman spoke. "I've sent for you to discuss your grade on the midterm, Miss Mitchell."

And here we go, Ella thought to herself, biting the inside of her cheek. "What about it?" she asked, her voice coming out so quietly it was barely audible.

Mrs. Philips sighed, a distressed expression blanketing her face. "You've passed everything, except for one section of the math exam."

Ella swallowed the lump in her throat. So Dallas _would_ have failed, she thought to herself—so much for being confident that morning three weeks ago. She mentally rolled her eyes, but remembered that now it was _her_ own problem to deal with.

"Is there a way I can retake it?"

The woman was straight to the point. "No. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that this will lower your grade in class, Miss Mitchell, which will require you to speak to your teachers about extra credit in order for you to pass the school year. As you know, we're officially in the fourth marking period, and with this grade starting you out, I would suggest doing as much extra credit and studying as you can in order to pass with a decent semester grade, or else you will fail." She closed the folder, lips firmly pressing together. "The midterm exam counts toward your overall average for the school year."

The girl felt her heart plummet into her stomach, and for a moment, she felt like she was about to throw up. She kept telling herself that it wasn't that big of a deal, that she would be able to boost her grade with some extra work—it wasn't impossible, was it?

"And another thing," Mrs. Philips went on, "I've spoken with Mr. Davis about your continuation of tutoring Mr. Winston for the final marking period, and he agrees that it would be in Mr. Winston's best interest to be assigned another tutor so that you may concentrate on your own studies."

Ella's head was spinning, but she asked the one question that was lingering in the back of her mind, leaning forward in the chair ever so slightly. "How did Dallas do with his own exam?"

Mrs. Philips merely stared at her for a good minute, as if scrutinizing her. "He passed every section of each subject." Her eyes shifted toward the clock above the door. "Mr. Winston will be assigned a new tutor this afternoon who will start on Monday. You'll have this week to finish out."

With that, she dismissed the girl, and Ella walked out of the guidance office with a miserable look on her pale face, her eyes glassy with tears.

* * *

Dallas was glad to get out of gym class that afternoon—he hated wearing the fucking required uniform that made him look like some kind of pussy while running—or walking, in his case—the track. Glory, it was more embarrassing than the prison uniforms he had worn in the past. He liked the adrenaline that pumped through his veins when it came to certain sports—jockeying, playing football with the guys, running from cops, fighting, not that the last two were actual sports, but still—he hated gym as a required class in general.

However, if there was one thing that he would rather do than sit in Mr. Davis's office, it was to actually participate in gym class for once. He hadn't seen Ella Mitchell all day, but he had a feeling that the reason for her afternoon visit with Mrs. Philips was most likely similar to the one he had been called down to the principal's office.

Ponyboy was probably right, he thought with a scowl. It was most likely about those fucking midterm exams from three weeks ago. Oh, glory. He could just imagine the absolute delight ol' Davis would feel if he was about to inform him that he had failed and was on his way out. Now that would be something Dallas would get a rise out of—one which involved using his fists to rearrange the man's face.

Speaking of which, the older man stepped into the office, eyeing the blond with the same cool expression he had on his elfish face. Dally knew that Mr. Davis didn't like him, didn't want to see him as much as he didn't want to be there, and he knew that he was eager to get rid of him. Thing was, Dallas had already made it six months through the school year, and there were only two lousy months left before he was done for good.

"Mr. Winston," Mr. Davis said, gray eyes flickering down to the placement of the teen's shoes. "Take your feet off of my desk this instant."

With a sly smirk, the blond did as he was told, getting a rise out of annoying the man. "What'd ya want to see me for?"

"I'll make this brief," he replied, sitting down at his desk. "You've passed your exams, however, your tutor, Miss Mitchell, unfortunately did not, so as of Monday, you'll be assigned a new tutor for the final marking period so that Miss Mitchell is able to catch up and focus on her own studies, is that clear?"

The blond's brows crinkled together, a perplexed look on his face. Ella had failed her midterm? That didn't make sense to him at all. Ella might have been an air-headed dope, might have been a bit frazzled the past few weeks, but she didn't fuck up when it came to her school work. Something wasn't right about the situation, and Dallas wasn't certain that he truly believed what Davis was telling him. On the other hand, he didn't want a new fucking tutor—he was just fine with Dopey. He didn't really like her, but she was _his_ dopey tutor, and didn't need a replacement.

"No, it ain't clear, Sir," he answered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't want a new tutor. Dop— Ella is just fine. Just 'cause she failed her exam don't mean you need to replace her." He stared back at the man with a contemptuous glare. "Look, man, if it wasn't for that broad, I wouldn't have passed this shit to begin with." He mentally cringed at his own words, not one for talking like that—it made him feel like a pansy.

But Mr. Davis didn't flinch, and he certainly didn't seem impressed, either. "Be that as it may, Mr. Winston, but come Monday morning, you _will_ be assigned a new tutor. You're dismissed."

The teen practically knocked the chair over as he stood up in one fluid motion, fists jamming inside of his pockets as he mentally let out a string of profanities all the way to the high heavens.

* * *

Ella wasn't feeling very brave that afternoon. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to tell Dallas that this was her last week as his tutor. She had felt uneasy all afternoon, barely able to think clearly in any of her classes after her visit with Mrs. Philips. It seemed rather strange to her that just because she, or Dallas, rather, had failed one section of the midterm, she could no longer be his tutor.

Closing her locker door, she pulled her purple and green bag over her shoulder, turning on her heel to head out to the parking lot, but not before a pair of dark boots appeared in her vision, causing her to glance up, a strained look covering her features.

"Dallas," she greeted nimbly, wishing that she didn't have to see him that afternoon. She was almost afraid to look up and meet his gaze, so she didn't. "Thought we were meeting outside."

"Well, I'm here," came the blunt response, and she could see him shift on his feet. "Let's go, huh? I don't wanna get caught up in bus traffic."

Ella followed him out to the car, the two of them silently climbing inside before Dallas took off out of the lot and down the road. The girl felt distressed, more than she had when she found out about Craig working with George, more than she had when she found out that she had been played, more than she had when she saw Craig and Jane together, more than any time really. She stared out the passenger side window while the towheaded teen drove to their usual spot, and Ella felt her chest tightening more with each passing second.

Cutting the engine, the blond lit up a cigarette, surprisingly remaining quiet. Ella made no move to grab for any of her books, instead leaning back in the seat, attempting to relax her stiff shoulders. Glory, she felt so tense just being beside Dallas—it was sickening.

Finally, she decided to break the ice. "I spoke to Mrs. Philips today." At the hood's silence, silence that made her feel even worse, she continued on. "You're going to have a new tutor next week." Out of her peripheral, she could see his face turning a little. "What, no cheers or anything?" she tried to joke, her voice rising a few octaves. "I thought you would be glad to hear that—after all, you said that you couldn't wait to get rid of me in the beginning of the school year."

Dallas blinked, remembering his own words quite clearly. "I ain't glad, alright?" he bit out, grounding his teeth. "Look, girl, Davis told me the same fucking bullshit, and the thing is, I ain't gonna . . . do this shit with another person, savvy?"

"But you'll have—"

"I don't gotta do shit," he said, already knowing the next words out of her mouth. "Fuck Davis and that fucking counselor." He eyed her hardly. "Looks like you ain't through dealing with me, sweets, so don't go gettin' smug. There's only a few weeks left of the school year and then we're through." He licked his lips. "Only reason I'm keepin' ya around is 'cause I don't need to deal with having another person trying to figure out my school shit—fucking waste of time."

Ella almost grinned to herself, but some part of her still felt guilty. She wasn't sure if it had to do with the fact that she had switched her math exam around with Dallas's, or because it was now _her_ fault that they were in this predicament. Still, the thought that Dallas was set on keeping her around made her stomach twist and her head spin, and she absolutely hated it. She reminded herself that he was only doing it because she knew his grades and classes pretty well, and he was used to her as a tutor—nothing more.

"How in the fuck did you fail your test?"

Her eyes shot in his direction. "It was just one section. Guess I rushed through it or something." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter, though."

Dallas glared straight ahead, contemplating her words. "Which section on what subject?"

"Section two of math," she answered, feeling her palms starting to sweat. She knew she could just lie, but Dallas could always ask either Mr. Davis or Mrs. Philips, even though she doubted they would actually answer him. Still, though, she wanted to be honest. "But like I said, it doesn't really matter."

"Section two of math, huh?" he repeated, voice low but firm. That was the exact same section that he had struggled with. How in the fuck had he passed and Ella hadn't? At the girl's nod, though, he turned back ahead, an icy reflection in his pale eyes.

* * *

Evie was sitting on her porch smoking a cigarette when Ella arrived that evening. Perking up at the sight of the car, Evie stubbed her cigarette beneath her heel and moved to meet the shorter girl halfway across the lawn, a cheerful look on her flawless face. Her countenance nearly put the older teen in a better mood, and she felt herself relaxing somewhat for the first time that day.

"Hey," Evie greeted, and grabbed the girl's arm. "Come on inside, it's getting a little cool out. We can go to my room and chit-chat."

Ella nodded along, following the dark-haired girl inside. On the way up to her room, they passed Evie's younger sister, Beth, whose eyes trailed after them, an almost longing look in them as if she wanted to be involved. From the kitchen entry, Evie's mother greeted her friend, a similar smile to that of her older daughter's stretching out across her face.

Once inside the bedroom, Evie closed the door before making her way across the room to flop down on her bed, leaving Ella to sit on the edge of Beth's. Before Ella could say anything, Evie bent down, her arm reaching under her bed as she felt her way around for something, a determined look on her face, her eyes sparking as she pulled out a bottle of wine.

"I know you ain't exactly a drinker," she said, glancing at the older girl, "but this won't get you drunk or nothing. Just for kicks." She unscrewed the lid, tilting her head back as she took a good swig. She chuckled a little. "I broke into it already, sorry."

Ella's expression was faint as she took the bottle from Evie. She pressed the opening to her lips before downing some of the fruity liquid. It was light in comparison to some of the stuff she had drank with Craig when he took her out to social parties. Glory, her stomach turned a little at the thought, and she wished more than anything that she could just hate the boy and remove her feelings for Dallas.

Evie was staring at her. "You okay?"

The brown-haired girl's eyes shot in her direction. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"Anything you wanna chat about?" she asked, taking the bottle back.

Ella wanted to say yes, wanted to open up and tell somebody about her problems, but she felt weird about doing so. Evie, though, made her feel like she could talk, like she could trust her, and remembering the beginning of that school year with homecoming, she knew that Evie wasn't going to sit there and judge her, or bite her head off.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I just have a lot going on."

Evie leaned forward on the bed. "Oh, hell, well you can talk to me." She frowned. "Honestly, I ain't had much friends to talk to recently. Ever since Sylvia Evans and Sandy Vincent moved away, I barely hang around with girls. I still see Kathy Milton around town, but ever since Two-Bit Mathews and her broke up, she don't hardly come around me anymore—seems like our old pack broke it off."

The older teen sympathized. "I don't even have any girl friends to talk to." She sighed, and Evie passed the bottle back to her knowingly. "Ever since Craig and I broke up, I've been—"

"Downright miserable?" came the guess, and Evie raised an eyebrow. "It's written all over you, Ella." A thoughtful look crossed her face, and then she snapped her fingers. "I think you need a girls' night or something. You know what, Ella? I think you should stay here one night and let me give you a makeover or something . . ."

She trailed on, and Ella was left to stare at her, feeling almost dumbstruck. Was Evie actually inviting her to stay one whole night at her house, like a sleepover? She'd never stayed at anyone's house for a full night, never had female friends that wanted to gossip and talk about this and that, or do makeovers and drink cheap bottles of wine while doing so. But something inside of her longed for it, and as she thought about Evie's kid sister, she reckoned that she, too, also had the same expression in her eyes—the desire to be part of something.

She nodded with a genuine smile. "I'd really like that."

And for once, she let her guard down, no longer feeling the need to be brave.

 _Baby don't blow it, tell me what's it all for_

 _If you're not terrified to fail_

* * *

 **To find out how Ella and Evie became friendly in the beginning of the school year with homecoming, check out "God Help the Girls" by Bratpack 2.0. The story features Bridget Stevens and other characters from "Don't Think Twice"/"Sins of the Saints" by _AndThatWasEnough,_ a younger version of Cathy Carlson before "The Visit" by _lulusgardenfli,_ and takes place between chapters five and six of "Green Light." **

**As always, thank you so much for the endless support on this story! :3  
**


	40. Circles

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Byrds own "Full Circle."**

* * *

 _Funny how the circle turns around_

 _First you're up and then you're down again_

 _Though the circle takes what it may give_

 _Each time around it makes it live again_

 **April 11, 1966**

"Mr. Winston," Mrs. Girdlé said, stepping in front of the art table he was seated at. She gave him an odd look as she stared at him. "The bell rang. Class is over."

He nodded, not bothering to move, and the woman was left to wonder what was going on in that head of his. He had been abnormally decent in class, hadn't done anything wrong, barely spoke or bothered the other students, and he hardly gave her a difficult time Thursday and Friday morning, and now this morning. Three days he had acted obedient, not one ounce of trouble caused by him, and Mrs. Girdlé was both pleased and shocked.

"Dallas," she tried again, bringing her palm down on the table lightly. When the blond's bitter blue eyes landed on her, she sighed. "Class is over. It's time for you to go."

His lips pressed together. "Don't feel like movin'."

"And why is that?" Her eyes flickered to the clock, a curious expression on her face. Students would be entering the room at any minute for second period, and she wasn't sure what to do about Dallas. "Is there a reason you don't want to move?"

His eyes narrowed. There most certainly _was_ a fucking reason why he didn't feel like moving, but it wasn't any of Mrs. Girdlé's business, and he wished that she would leave him the fuck alone. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her, or anyone, especially Mr. Davis, who he was supposed to be seeing right after art, well, really during second period, but what did it matter? Either way, he wasn't looking forward to his visit with the principal—he didn't want to meet his new tutor. He hadn't even bothered to meet up with Ella Friday afternoon, either, instead blowing her off and telling her that it didn't matter.

"Look, lady, do ya mind?" he bit out at Mrs. Girdlé. "Do I have to have a reason for everything? Christ almighty, you teachers . . ."

But Mrs. Girdlé didn't get upset with the teen's response. In fact, she merely nodded her head, pulling herself away from the table as the first student walked into the classroom. She turned back to face Dallas, who was looking at the back bulletin board, an annoyed look on his hardened face. She knew that she wasn't going to get anywhere with him, but she could tell that something was wrong.

"I'll give you a pass when you decide to leave," was all she said, turning on her heel and heading back toward the front of the room, greeting other students as they took their seats at different tables.

Dallas glanced at the clock, wondering how far he could wait out his visit with Davis before the man actually sent somebody after his ass.

He smirked at the thought.

* * *

Ella smiled a little as Ponyboy came to a stop at her locker. He returned the gesture, reaching one arm out to rest on the one beside hers. They hadn't spoken all that much since the week before, and Ella actually missed the younger teen's company. Without Dallas around, the girl felt lonely again, save for Evie, who she seemed to speak to nearly every day. Still, she actually missed tutoring Dallas, and it hadn't even been a full two days without his company.

It seemed almost strange that she missed their time together—Dallas had done nothing but mock her and put her down, except for those sporadic days when they actually spoke to each other and didn't fight like cat and dog.

"How's it going?" Pony asked, closing her locker door for her.

Ella shrugged a little. "It's going, I guess. What about you?"

"Same, I suppose," he admitted, and then glanced at her. "Well, I actually got some good news over the weekend about my book."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? What is it?"

The younger teen couldn't control his excitement. "Mr. Franklin sent a letter of approval for it, which means that I can have one proof copy, registered and copyrighted." He sighed. "But here's the tricky part—I need to meet with him this week so I can go over the cover and all, and discuss legalities and prices for the patent."

"That's great," she replied, feeling awfully happy for him. "Did you need a ride?"

He shook his head. "I was going to take the bus. I don't want to inconvenience anyone."

"None at all," Ella said, eyes meeting his. "Really, Ponyboy, I'd love to help out any way that I can. Just let me know the time and date."

"Gee, thanks a lot, Ella."

She smiled in return. "I can't wait to see the finished product."

"Me, either," he responded. "So, did you know that Dally is meeting his new tutor today?"

At those words, Ella frowned, her mood souring. "Yes, we talked about that last week. He didn't seem too enthused about it, even though I thought he'd be glad to get rid of me." She licked her lips as she thought about their conversation last Wednesday. "He said that he was more comfortable with me because I know his classes, and I suppose he doesn't want to . . . get used to somebody else."

"Yeah, well, I thought that you might be glad to get away from him," Ponyboy said, raising a skeptic brow. "Might make it easier, you know?"

Ella felt her chest tighten at his words. Though she had never directly admitted her feelings to him at all, Ponyboy knew how she felt about Dallas. She had been trying to push her feelings aside, but no matter how much she tried, it just didn't seem to work out for her. But Ponyboy had a point, too—she should have been glad that she was no longer his tutor, because not seeing him meant that she could let him go with ease, instead of tormenting herself with her ridiculous emotions.

"Yeah," she answered, voice low. "I'll see you later, Ponyboy."

* * *

Turns out that Dallas didn't wait long for an escort. He was five minutes into third period when some Soc kid came to get him. He'd left Girdlé's class after second period—some part of him didn't want to get the woman in trouble, and if he was caught staying in her class for longer than necessary, she would probably end up in more trouble than him, so he'd taken his leave without saying one word to her.

Mr. Davis didn't seem pleased with the towheaded delinquent at all, staring at him with an expression that resembled disgust. Dallas didn't mind one bit what ol' Davis thought of him, didn't let the man's opinions get to him, either. He merely stared back at him with a similar look, letting him know that he wasn't impressed or intimidated with his attempt to be authoritative.

The two had barely uttered any words to each other; Mr. Davis merely scorned him for not showing up, threatening him with suspension, and then going on about meeting his new tutor and how he'd better be decent and on his best behavior. The teen didn't bother to comment or offer a reply, but Mr. Davis knew that he was pissed with the entire situation, probably getting a rise out of it, too.

A few minutes later, a girl walked into the office. She was tall and dressed sharp, dress stopping below her knees, and a pair of shiny Mary-Jane's adorning her feet. Her blond hair was long and pulled back, her face contorted into a sneer, sea-green eyes small and resentful.

"Miss Preston, this is Dallas Winston," Mr. Davis announced, beckoning the girl inside. "Mr. Winston, this is Beatrice Preston."

The two glared at each other, and Dallas was certain that he hadn't thought Ella that terrible looking, albeit in a different way. Beatrice Preston was decent looking, but she was definitely prissy and stuck-up, traits the blond-headed hood despised more than anything. The girl's attire and demeanor screamed Soc, and he seriously considered on strangling the fuck out of Mr. Davis.

Beatrice listened intently while Mr. Davis went over the same information he had given Ella back in the beginning of the school year. At the thought of Dopey Ella, Dallas suddenly felt a leap of anger pass through him, and before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, his mouth was moving on its own accord, and he was spitting out his thoughts.

"I don't see why you gotta replace Ella, Sir," he said, a scowl on his face. "There's less than two months left of this blasted school year. This is all pretty fuc— stupid to me."

Mr. Davis was on his last straw with the teen. "Mr. Winston, mind your manors and your language, or I will suspend you right here and now." He shook his head. "Would you like to find yourself sitting behind bars for five years?"

Oh, there were plenty of things that Dallas wanted to do, knocking Davis's block off being at the very top of the list. Instead of answering, he leaned back in the chair, nostrils flaring a bit as his frown deepened, eyes hard and lethal. He kept reminding himself that there were only two months left of the fucking school year; he could make it without fucking up. Hell, he had already made it over six months, so what the hell was another lousy two?

"Mr. Winston?"

Dallas glanced over at Davis, raising one ashy colored brow. "Whatta ya want?"

The older man's jaw was clenched, but he kept his anger at bay. "I asked you if you had a problem with anything." He didn't really care what the teen thought, but he was trying to be civil, not that Dallas Winston deserved any civility from him. "If not, you and Miss Preston are dismissed."

Without a response, the blond stood up quickly and took his leave, not bothering to look back at either Davis or the Preston girl. He didn't give a shit about anything Davis said, didn't care what happened with . . . what the hell was the girl's first name? He didn't care.

"Excuse me," a thin voice called out, causing the blond to jerk around. There stood his new tutor, arms crossed over her chest, a defiant look on her face. She approached him, but made sure to keep her distance, nose wrinkling up as if his presence repulsed her. "I'm not sure how you would like to go about this, so here is what we're going to do." Her chin tilted, and Dallas was sure that half the Soc-y girls would be intimidated by her. "We're going to work by my schedule, so—"

"Hold the fuck up," he bit out, cutting her off. Did this girl know who she was talking to? "First off, you ain't gonna stand there and order me around, girl. That ain't how this works. I don't give a shit what your schedule is, or what you do, or anything about you. If I want your fucking help, I'll come and find ya, but don't hold your breath."

Not waiting for a response, he stalked off down the hall, his teeth grinding together so hard he was surprised they hadn't chipped. Glory, what the hell was it with people thinking that they could just tell him what he was going to do, like they owned him or something? He wasn't going to work with the Preston girl at all, and he didn't give a shit if she went back and ratted him out—no, he was done with all of the tutoring shit.

Ever since he had started at Will Rogers, he'd done nothing but end up going in fucking circles, never getting out of any of its cycles.

* * *

"So you ain't Dally's tutor anymore?" Evie questioned, turning her head a little to face the brown-haired girl. "What happened with y'all?"

Ella shrugged, biting into a slice of her sandwich. "I failed part of the midterm, so Mr. Davis and Mrs. Philips thought that it would be in Dallas's best interest to have another tutor so that I could concentrate on my own work." She sighed, chin dipping down. "The exams count for part of the semester grade."

Evie nodded. "Well, it can't be all that bad. I mean, hell, I failed part of the history section last year and I still passed my sophomore year. I think you'll be just fine, El."

The older teen smiled, although it was rather vague. "Yeah, I just—" She paused, biting her lip, unsure of what to say.

"You miss him, don't ya?" the dark-haired girl guessed, arched brows raising. At Ella's look of sheer bafflement, Evie only grinned. "Oh, please, why else would you be so miserable? Don't tell me you're still that hung-up over Craig Bryant."

"Well," she began, eyes searching around the lot, "I _do_ still have feelings for Craig, I guess, though they're not as prominent as they were, but—" A flush was creeping up her neck, her hands becoming clammy as she tried to find the right words to say.

Evie, though, was all too knowing, and she understood completely. "But you like Dally, too."

The color of her cheeks only tinted more, and Ella looked away from the other girl, suddenly taking a keen interest in the gravel of the student parking lot. She liked Evie, and liked even more that she didn't judge her or tease her about her feelings. Ella felt comfortable around the younger teen, wondering why they hadn't spoken this much earlier in the school year.

Tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, she nodded. "I've never said it, but yeah."

Evie, for all her worth, couldn't quit understand why any girl would be attracted to the likes of Dallas Winston, especially a girl like Ella Mitchell, but then again, the two had spent an awful amount of time together, and with the previous issue with Ella's ex-boyfriend and George Clayton, it made sense that she would take an interest in different guys. Besides, Dallas and her were way out of each others leagues, but Evie sensed that Ella was looking for a taste of something new and different—far different than what she was used to, and Dallas Winston was the answer to that.

The younger girl's expression was one of thoughtfulness, and she subconsciously grabbed for the other half of Ella's peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, guzzling down the rest of her milk that she had gotten in the cafeteria before taking a bite.

"Well, I think if you admit it to yourself, you'll feel better," she stated. "Look, forget about Craig, Ella, let him go. What he did to you was downright cruel, not to mention, fucked up. I don't know what to tell ya about Dallas, 'cept that he's prancing along with Cherie Peters, and were I you, I wouldn't bother to venture into that territory, meaning _that_ tramp."

"I wouldn't," Ella responded, resting her chin in her hands. "I don't really like her anyway."

"You're jealous."

The older girl's head snapped in Evie's direction, but she knew she was right. She was jealous of Cherie because she was with Dallas and she wasn't. She felt sick, but at the same time, admitting her feelings to herself did feel a little better. She just couldn't fathom how she—after despising him for so long—could end up liking Dallas. It just didn't make any kind of sense to her, and she was positive that the blond would never in a million years like her back.

Evie continued on. "Don't beat yourself up, though. I know you like him an' all, but trust me, Ella, he ain't worth getting upset over." She leaned back on the hood of Steve's car, looking in the direction of where he, Two-Bit Mathews, and Dallas Winston stood, shaking her head. "I used to let all my feelings eat away at me, so I get it."

"With Steve?"

"Yeah, with Steve," she admitted, the sound of her voice sardonic. "But then I realized after a while that I didn't need to impress him none. He liked me, and I liked him. There wasn't any need to try when it came to us, and there still ain't any." She looked at Ella. "My advice? Just let things happen."

Ella nodded, blue eyes fixed on the towheaded hood across the lot, wondering how he made her feel so mixed up about everything.

And then Evie flashed a grin. "So, about that girls' night . . ."

* * *

Ponyboy paced back and forth in the kitchen later that afternoon, wondering if he should call Mr. Franklin and set up an appointment. It seemed so entirely surreal to him that he was only two steps away from getting his book. Well, he told himself grimly, it wasn't ready for marketing, and it wouldn't be until he was able to get legal consent from every person whose name he used as actual characters in it. With a sigh, he wondered what his book would look like, what type of cover he would use for it, and how it would feel in his hands.

Most of all, he couldn't wait to see the looks on his brothers' faces when he presented it to them, brand new and fully completed. He remembered writing it back in October, remembered Mr. Syme telling him that he ought to look into getting it published. Boy howdy, what would the man say when he learned that Ponyboy had done just that?

What would anyone say?

There was something creeping in his thoughts, though, the one thing that he refused to change in his story, the one thing that he was certain would floor Dally if he ever read it. He had been so angry and upset, telling himself that Dallas Winston ought to be dead, that he wanted nothing more than to be buried six feet under with Johnny Cade. So he had written the story the way it was supposed to be, because in his mind, Dally was supposed to be dead—he shouldn't have survived.

For a moment, the teen considered his thoughts, knowing how dreadful and morbid they sounded, even to him, but there was some part, and he wasn't sure why, that strongly felt that that the towheaded boy should have died back in September with Johnny. There was some eerie feeling that told him that Dallas wasn't supposed to live, even though he somehow had, but either way, he wasn't going to change the story-line of his book.

With a grim expression, he picked up the phone and dialed Mr. Franklin's number, feeling both excited and nervous. Perhaps Ella would drive him up to the man's office again so that he didn't have to take the bus and go by his lonesome. He had always enjoyed going places by himself before, but something about Ella's company was almost comforting to him, and for some reason, he trusted her enough to bring her along.

Mr. Franklin answered a moment later. "Hello?"

* * *

Cherie nibbled her lips, dragging her bottom one through her teeth as she watched her boyfriend serve drinks at the bar. She loved watching him, took absolute pleasure in the things he did, and most of all, she loved the way he made her feel. She never would have dreamed she would be with him, but she had twisted him around her finger, or at least, was trying to. Thing was, Dallas Winston was a hard one to reel in, and every time Cherie thought that she had him, he went slipping through her web.

Why couldn't he just _be_ with her? Why couldn't he express any emotions or feelings for her when she had tried to do so for him so many times before? She knew that she was good-looking, that she could get anything that she wanted, so why was Dallas so rejecting?

Usually, it was always her coming to him, and if he felt like entertaining her, he would. It wasn't always hard to get him in bed with her, but there were times when he would get irritated and kick her to the curb. Other times, he wouldn't, and she would spend the night beside him in some drunken stupor, wishing that he would offer her something other than physical lust.

She watched him pour another drink, sliding it down to some sleazy looking cowboy, and with a pout on her face, she leaned across the table, making sure that the front of her shirt fell down, leaving nothing to the imagination. When Dallas looked in her direction, she smirked, eyes softening as she beckoned him over.

"Scotch?" he guessed, not bothering to conceal his trailing gaze.

She knew that she had him for the night. "You know me all too well, sugar."

"Yeah," he replied gruffly, turning to get her drink.

The girl continued to watch him, sulking on the bar stool until his shift ended at ten o'clock. As he made his way around the bar, she caught his arm, daring a look up at him through thickly coated lashes, eyes boring straight into his own. She didn't always have to ask, but other times, Dallas just didn't seem to be in the mood, and it was times like this when she had to try.

She licked her lips slowly. "Where ya goin'?"

"Upstairs," he answered quickly, shaking her off.

"You want some company?" she offered, sliding off the bar stool and following him up the stairs to his room. "I can stay if ya want."

Dallas ground his teeth. He hadn't exactly been having a good day, and with Cherie's earlier nagging and the fact that she followed him around like a dog, he was growing annoyed with her. Sure, he had made her his girl because she put out whenever he wanted, but he was in no way committed to her—she was just a side chick, one he could count on to be there when he needed it, and he was sure that she understood that, too.

"I ain't in the mood," he replied, coming to a stop at his door.

But Cherie was ever persistent, her eyes growing larger as she maneuvered herself between him and the door, her chest brushing against his as she stared at him, lips parting a little as her head tilted to the side, a sultry expression on her thin face.

"So let me help you get there, sugar," she murmured, leaning forward to press her scarlet lips to his jaw, fingers wrapping around his wrists as she brought his hands to her chest.

He grunted when her mouth connected with his neck, hands squeezing the flesh of her chest. Oh, yeah, she could certainly put him in the mood alright, help him get there. Cherie was something else, he told himself, she was, but he didn't care for her, only what she offered up. When she pulled her blouse off, leaving her upper body entirely exposed, Dallas raised an eyebrow suggestively, finding it awfully amusing how she didn't care that they were practically in the middle of the hall.

The side of her mouth quirked as she jutted herself forward. "You want to take this elsewhere?"

The blond licked his lips, before deciding that he didn't give a shit anymore. Pushing the door open, he dragged her inside, throwing her down on the bed and following suit, ready to forget his problems, and what was better than getting his rocks off for the night in order to do so?

And there he was, going in circles again.

 _Funny how the circle is a wheel_

 _And you can steal someone who is a friend_

 _Funny how the circle takes you to fly_

 _And if it's right it brings it back again_

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated! :3  
**


	41. Gonna Get Easier

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Five Stairsteps own "O-o-h Child."**

* * *

 _Ooh-oo child_

 _Things are gonna get easier_

 _Ooh-oo child_

 _Things'll get brighter_

 **April 15, 1966**

"So, no work this afternoon?" Frances asked, looking down at her daughter, one brow raised as she reached for her empty breakfast plate.

Ella shook her head. "No, I'm going straight to Evie's after school."

Frances nodded, a small smile curving her lips upward. She was happy that Ella had finally found a friend, one who seemed to be decent enough from what she'd heard. She remembered hearing the name _Evie_ during the beginning of the school year when Ella had gone to the homecoming dance with that Craig boy—Evie had done her hair, that was it. The two had been working on some kind of school project, although Frances couldn't exactly remember anything about it.

Still, she was happy for Ella, and with everything that had happened with Craig Bryant, she was glad to see her daughter smiling and happy again. Ella had never been an enthusiastic child, never really cared to make a lot of friends. Sure, she could be social and friendly when she wanted, but she was more of an introverted girl, preferring to stay at home and do her own thing.

"Well that's just fine, El," Frances replied, placing the dishes in the sink. "Gene is going to pick me up in the afternoon for my shift at the store, so you don't have to drop the car off."

"Are you working tonight, too?"

Her mother shook her head. "No. I get off at six, but I'm in for the night."

With a quick nod, Ella stood up, smoothing her skirt down and grabbing for her bag. Things had been working out in her favor that week, or so it seemed. Ponyboy had asked her if she would mind going with him up to Mr. Franklin's office later that morning, which she had agreed to, and that night, she would be sleeping at Evie's house, having a full-out girls' night, which she was awfully excited for. It seemed that things were finally looking up for her, and she hadn't felt so content in a while.

The only things that had been bothering her were her grades and Dallas Winston. She hadn't really seen him that week, and according to Ponyboy, he hadn't, either. He wasn't able to spend his lunch period with them because he was getting tutored by Beatrice Preston during that time, which Ella was sure pissed him off, and he had supposedly been spending the rest of his time with his girlfriend, working at Buck Merril's roadhouse, and God only knew what else.

But Ella didn't want to think about the reckless hood. She had been trying to forget about him, or let him go. She thought about her conversation with Evie on Monday and decided that the younger girl was right—Dallas wasn't worth getting upset over. And besides, she had her own life to take care of, and she didn't need anyone or anything getting in the way of it.

* * *

Dallas sneered, crossing his arms as he stared across the room at Mrs. Philips, his least favorite person at Will Rogers High School. He didn't see the point in meeting with the bitch every Friday afternoon, thinking that it was a fucking waste of time. But Beatrice Preston thought that it was a _brilliant_ idea to do so, just to make sure that Dallas was passing his classes, and Mrs. Philips was quite in favor of doing so, too.

The blond hated the fuck outta Beatrice, could hardly stand her presence alone, and he didn't want to spend any more time with her than necessary. The two of them met up three days a week during lunch to go over one subject for an entire thirty five minutes, and since the bitch was too afraid to meet up with him alone, she had brought along her two best friends and their boyfriends, all upper class, Soc kids that made his skin crawl. They all kept their distance, but Dallas had felt each of them staring at him numerous times, disgusted expressions on their faces as they did.

"Mr. Winston?"

His eyes shifted in the direction of the counselor, lips turned down. "What?"

She sighed, removing her glasses. "I asked you how the tutoring was going with Miss Preston."

"Fantastic."

The look she'd given him just then let him know that she wasn't exactly pleased with his answer, but what did she expect him to say? He didn't like Beatrice, he didn't like the way she attempted to tutor him, and he certainly didn't like her schedule. Every minute that he had spent with her made prison sound more and more exciting. At least with Ella, he didn't feel like he was about to explode with pure fucking rage—Beatrice talked down to him, rolling her eyes constantly, looking down her long and thin nose at him, acting as if him not getting something was the most outrageous thing ever . . .

He was sick of her and her unceasing bitchiness.

Mrs. Philips was staring at him with a bland expression, as if him being there in her office was an utter nuisance to her, as if speaking to him alone made her sick. With a dramatic sigh, the woman shook her head, scribbling something down in his file, before closing it up and pushing it off to the side.

"I've spoken with Miss Preston," she continued on, folding her hands on her desk. "She says that you hardly try, though your grades remain consistent."

Dallas hummed, teeth pressing together. "That so?"

"Mr. Winston," Mrs. Philips said, sounding slightly irked, "Miss Preston is only trying to help make sure that you pass your classes in order to graduate—"

His eyes only narrowed all the more as he cut her off. "Yeah? And what was wrong with the Mitchell girl? She was doin' just fine."

He couldn't believe he'd said that, but he was so fucking aggravated that he didn't care. Glory, Ella was better company than Beatrice—Uptight—Preston. He could deal with Dopey any day of the week, even preferring her crabby mood-swings over Beatrice's conceited attitude.

"We've been over this, Dallas," Mrs. Philips answered in a flat tone, exhaling hardly. "Miss Mitchell needs to concentrate on her _own_ schoolwork without any distractions in order to pass." With a glance at the clock, she gave him a sharp look. "There are only several weeks left of the school year, Dallas, so there is no need to make this any more difficult than it needs to be. I'll see you next week."

And with that, she dismissed him, and Dallas stormed out of her office, scoffing at her words and wondering if there was a way that he could get rid of Uptight Preston. He had told Dopey that he wasn't finished with her, and he meant to keep that statement truthful.

* * *

Ponyboy wandered down the hall after fourth period, making his way to Ella's locker where he had planned to meet her before they left the school. He had been anxiously awaiting this day all week, his stomach fluttering around as he thought about designing his book cover. He was glad that Ella would be his accompanier, too—she had seemed very excited for him, and he found it easy to talk to and confide in her about his book. She had promised him that once it was published and on the market, she would purchase it, even going as far as asking him if he'd autograph it for her.

The teen hadn't been this happy or excited in quite some time, and the more he thought about the actual publication, the more jittery he felt.

He saw Ella walking in his direction from the opposite side of the hall, and once their eyes met, she shot him a genuine grin, crossing over to his side and stopping at her locker. She quickly opened the door, stashing her books inside and pulling her car keys out of her bag, before closing the door and turning to face him.

"You look incredibly—"

"I know," he said, cutting her off. He flushed. "I don't mean to always talk about it, but, golly, I'm just shocked that it's happening." The two fell in step. "I've been doin' a lot of thinking about it, and I'm not real sure what to use for the cover."

Ella smiled. "Well, what's something symbolic in the story?"

The younger teen searched his mind; he'd already thought of that once, but he kept picturing a sunrise or a sunset, or something about Johnny. He reminded himself that Johnny Cade wasn't exactly the central point of his story, so what would symbolize the initial message?

He shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I'd like to use something that would represent my friends, but that's not really what my story is about. There's a lot more to it than just . . . well, than just us."

Ella looked thoughtful. "When you personally think of the story itself, what comes to mind?"

The question caused him to come to an abrupt stop, brows pulling together, a concentrated expression veiling his features. A lot of things came to mind whenever he thought of the story—the night Johnny died, the night Bob had nearly drowned him, Dallas practically dying before his eyes . . . it was all about violence, but that wasn't the significance, either.

It was about belonging, wanting to be accepted, the social class divide, sending a message, telling others that they weren't alone . . .

But what could represent that?

Ella's question and his thoughts were shoved aside as Dallas Winston rounded the corner, a bitter look in his hard irises, a frown on his mouth. He looked hacked off about something, and Ponyboy's face contorted into confusion as he stared at the older boy, wondering what he could possibly be so irritated about then.

"Hey, Dally," he greeted, keeping his voice casual. Beside him, Ella merely nodded, eyes lowering as if she couldn't look at the blond straight. "How's it going?"

"Been better," he answered gruffly, and then looked at the two of them closely. "Where are you two headed off to?"

Ponyboy felt his stomach plummet downward, but he was quick to think up a lie. "Nowhere. Why?"

The blond's eyes narrowed, and Ponyboy knew that he could tell that he was lying. Dallas was good at sensing that kind of thing, but Lordy, if Dallas had any inclination as to what he was up to, he didn't doubt that he would tell Darry, and then he'd been in a rut.

Ella, sensing the younger teen's discomfort, spoke up. "We're going to Mr. Italiano's class to work on a project about the—"

"Black Hawk War," Ponyboy finished rapidly, knowing that Dallas wouldn't even want to inquire what that was. History never particularly fascinated him, and he hoped that the older teen wouldn't bother to question them. He continued. "I want to get a headstart before the weekend."

"Whatever," Dallas responded, his expression reflecting contempt. He didn't care about school shit; in fact, he didn't want anything to do with it. Everything about it reminded him of Uptight, and he wasn't in the mood to think about that bitch, even though he was on his way to meet up with her. "Two-Bit and Steve know you're skipping out on lunch?"

Ponyboy nodded. "Yeah. Told them I was . . . doing some school work during lunch today."

That wasn't completely the truth, but Dallas wasn't going to question the guys about it, or so Ponyboy had hoped. Besides, he could always just give them the same story he had given Dallas and it wouldn't make a difference, would it? The warning bell rang, and out of his peripheral, Pony saw Ella's eyes flicker in his direction—they had to get out of there.

Dallas was still staring at them, but his main focus was on Ella's face, the girl's cheeks a faint shade of red, and Ponyboy could tell that she was uncomfortable being in the blond's presence, so he decided to move the conversation along, hoping to leave quickly before he was late for his appointment with Mr. Franklin.

"We'd better go," he said, and looked at Dallas. "See you later, Dal."

Watching the two walk off, Dallas's lips pressed together, a slight feeling of suspicion creeping up his spine as he wondered why in the fuck they had lied to him. Well, he thought bitterly, he was going to find out one way or another what they were up to.

* * *

"You taking Evie to the prom, birthday boy?" Two-Bit asked, cocking an eyebrow at Steve, the younger teen leaning back against his car, arms crossed over his chest. "Funny, ya know, if I was a senior this year, I could be takin' Kathy."

Steve pursed his lips, contemplating Two-Bit's words. Evie hadn't mentioned anything to him about the upcoming prom, but he knew she was thinking about it, knew that she was waiting for him to bring it up. He had enough money to get the tickets, and he still had that spiffy new tuxedo he'd gotten for the homecoming dance back in October. He didn't really dig school events like that, though, and the thought that this time around his buddies wouldn't be there for company nagged at him.

His eyes shifted toward the older greaser. "I know Evie's waiting for me to ask her about it."

"And?"

"I don't know," came the dull answer; this wasn't how he'd planned on spending his eighteenth birthday, dealing with thoughts of prom. "Hell, man, none of y'all are gonna be there, and what the hell am I supposed to do for the night? Act like I actually enjoy these functions?"

Two-Bit shrugged, dropping his finished cigarette on the ground. "But it would be awfully nice for the two of you to do something . . . well different for a change."

The dark-haired boy shot his friend a look. "And what makes you the relationship expert suddenly?"

"Nothin'," he chuckled. "But, hell, what is up with you hatin' school dances so much?"

"You're gonna stand there and tell me that you like attending them?" Steve questioned, a sarcastic tone in his voice. He couldn't exactly imagine why anyone would enjoy anything about school; as far as he was concerned, he despised going to begin with, so he didn't care for any of its other functions, plain and simple. But he reminded himself that this was Two-Bit he was talking to, the same greaser that actually took pleasure in going to school for kicks. "You're nuts if you do."

"And how's that?"

Before Steve had a chance to respond, Dallas came stalking up to them, a hard and icy look covering his features, as if he was in one of his dangerous moods. The two teens straightened up, realizing that the blond was most likely not in a joking mood, and neither one of them fancied the idea of getting clobbered upside the head.

Steve nodded once. "How's it goin', man?"

Dallas was grim, cupping his hands together as he lit a cigarette, his focus sharp, like a wild animal ready to strike. Steve was careful with his words—he didn't want to deal with Dallas's mood-swings; he had enough of his own issues to worry about, and Dallas's would only add more to the pile that he really didn't want to deal with.

Two-Bit spoke up next at the hood's silence. "Ain't you supposed to be with Beatrice?"

The look Dallas gave him then was enough to make him quit questioning him, and Steve had a funny feeling that their buddy was on his last straw with Beatrice Preston and the tutoring altogether. Then again, he couldn't exactly blame him there—he was no fan of Beatrice's. She was a stuck-up Soc who thought that she was better than everything, going around and sneering down at anyone who she didn't consider to be up to her standards, even going as far as to spit at Johnny Cade's feet once a few years back.

It was probably a good thing that Dallas hadn't known about it, but Steve nearly beat the tar out of her when he saw it happen, Sodapop at his side ready to back him up. He had said some nasty things to her after that, and all she did was stare back at him with one brow raised, as if him speaking to her alone was beneath her—like her _listening_ to him was a revulsion to her.

Finally, Dallas responded, his voice colder than usual. "Bailed out early."

"She givin' ya a hard time?"

He and Steve knew that when Dallas had attempted to skip out on a session with her, she had gone straight to Mrs. Philips about the situation and Dallas had gotten in trouble. Two-Bit thought that Dallas might actually strangle the girl, but he hadn't, and he'd become more repressed ever since. Beatrice was apparently too afraid to tutor the blond alone, always flocking herself with her friends, so the sessions alone for Dallas couldn't have been . . . comfortable.

Dallas inhaled hardly on his cancer stick. He had wanted to try and get Ella to tutor him, especially because he was fucking up in math again, and with finals only a few weeks away, he wasn't sure if he was going to pass the exams. But with Uptight running back to Mrs. Philips about his every move, he knew that there was no way he could do anything about Ella. Besides, he was certain that she wouldn't agree to it, either, even if she _had_ seemed almost excited over the fact that he hadn't wanted to get rid of her a week ago.

He was stuck with Beatrice fucking Preston until the end of May.

* * *

Dale Franklin shook Ponyboy's hand, offering him and Ella both a warm look. He always seemed to be in a pleasant mood, a beaming and genuine smile on his face. Ella could tell that he was honestly a kind and personable man, and she admired that about him. From how Ponyboy talked about him, he seemed very willing to help him along with his book in any way that he was able to, and upon officially meeting him for the first time, Ella understood what the younger boy meant.

Ponyboy introduced the girl. "Mr. Franklin, this my friend, Ella. Is it alright if she comes in?"

Mr. Franklin grinned, shaking the girl's hand lightly. "Pleasure to meet you Miss Ella," he said, and nodded to Ponyboy. "Of course, Ponyboy."

The two teens followed the man into his office, sitting down in the chairs across from his desk while he sat down behind it, beginning to sort through some papers, pulling one out from underneath the pile, eyes scanning the contents written on the page.

"Would you prefer to discuss the copyright or the cover design first, Ponyboy?" he asked, looking up to meet the boy's eyes.

Pony shrugged. "Well, I'd really like to discuss the cover, but I think it would be better to get the patent out of the way first before moving forward."

"Well, the copyright it is," Dale replied, reaching for another paper, before speaking again. He went over the details concerning prices and legalities for a few minutes, and Ponyboy listened intently as he tried to digest the information the man was giving him. Everything was still surreal to him, his gut twisting up with nerves. "How does that all sound to you, Ponyboy?" he asked, once he was finished.

The younger teen nodded. "Great, Sir. Would I be able to mail you a check?" Then he paused, a thought crossing his mind that Darry and Soda would know immediately if he wrote a check. "Wait," he said, licking his lips nervously. "I . . . can't." At Mr. Franklin's perplexed expression, he continued. "It's just that, with my brothers, they would—"

"Oh, I understand," Dale interrupted, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "I remember you saying that you wanted your book to be a surprise."

Ponyboy flushed, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Yes."

Ella watched the scene quietly. She felt bad for Ponyboy, and she wanted to help him out. She'd gotten the gist of what he was trying to say to Mr. Franklin—if he used a check, his brothers would know that money had been withdrawn from the bank, which would get Ponyboy in trouble. A sudden idea struck her just then, her eyes shifting in the younger boy's direction, before moving toward his publisher.

"I could . . . pay for it up front," she offered, her voice awfully light. "I have some cash on me."

"I can't let you do that," Ponyboy said, quickly intervening. "I can find a way to come up with the money. It's not, well, it's not that much."

Ella shook her head. "You can pay me back if you want, Ponyboy, but let me help you out." She tossed him a smile. "It's no big deal, honest."

But it was a big deal, the red-headed teen told himself. He couldn't let Ella pay for his copyright, even if he could pay her back at some point. It just didn't feel right to let her do such a thing. Sure, they were friends and all, but that wasn't right—letting her pay for him. Ponyboy, like his brothers, had a lot of pride, and letting someone do something for him like that felt incredibly weird. At the same time, it was also quite tempting, but he wasn't okay with it.

"I—"

But Ella cut him off, expression imploring. "Really, let me pay for it now, and you can discuss your cover design and pay me back whenever, alright?"

It took all of a minute or so before he caved. "Oh, alright," he agreed, though he didn't exactly feel all that comfortable. Some part of him was actually grateful to have Ella with him as a friend. "Thank you, Ella."

The girl was too busy fishing around her purse for her money to listen to what Mr. Franklin and Pony were discussing about his cover, and she had missed the rest of their conversation when she filled out the forms for the payment, but she told herself that she was alright with that, because she would rather be surprised with whatever Ponyboy chose as a symbolic image for the message of his story.

* * *

Evie giggled as she ran a brush through Ella's bushy hair, making sections and clipping them back so she could get to work on running a hot iron over them. She kept muttering how much hair Ella had, and that she was almost jealous. Then again, Evie was awfully proud of her own dark locks—they weren't too long or too short, not too curly or too straight. She was blessed when it came to having hair that was almost perfect, but she could envy Ella's thicker strands of hair.

Ella gritted her teeth as Evie gave another tug with the brush. "Ouch," she cried, hands reaching up instinctively, eyes slightly glassy. "Ow! Evie!"

"Sorry," the younger girl replied, securing another clip. "I'm almost done. Sheesh, you'd think I was actually hurtin' ya or somethin'." Reaching to the side to grab a bottle of pink wine, she placed it in Ella's hands. "Drink some."

The brown-haired girl raised an eyebrow. Despite Evie practically ripping her hair out of her skull, she was actually having fun. Beth was staying at her friend's house, so Ella had a bed to sleep in for the night, even though she felt weird about it. At least Evie's mother was kind enough to switch the sheets for the girl beforehand. Evie explained that her old friend, Sandy Vincent, used to stay at her house a lot, and the two ended up cramming into Evie's twin-sized bed so neither one had to sleep on the floor, especially during the Winter.

"Ya know, today is Steve's birthday," Evie remarked, glancing at Ella through the vanity mirror. Unfortunately, he's gotta work this evening, and by the time he gets off, it'll be too late to do anything, so we're gonna celebrate tomorrow." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Ella flushed. "So, ever ironed your hair before?"

Ella's gaze fell to her lap. "No."

She smiled. "Well, then, you're in for a treat. I can't wait to see how you're gonna look with straight hair, El. It's so long already, you might just sit on it when it's all done."

"My mom thinks that it'll eventually straighten itself out over time."

Evie nodded slow-like. "Probably will." She began running the iron through the girl's hair, her eyes lighting up as the strands flattened, the shiny locks looking almost a shade darker. "You're fortunate, though, ya know that? Yer hair ain't even damaged."

The older girl had to grin at that, sipping on some of the wine. She was glad Evie and her had become friends, and she was relieved that there was a girl about her age that knew how to fix her mane of puffy hair and actually enjoy doing so. She remembered how nice Evie had made her hair look for the homecoming dance back in October—it was fixed up in nice ringlets, a few stray pieces falling around her face and head. She couldn't wait to see what it would look like completely straight, having never seen it that way before.

It had taken Evie nearly a half hour to perfect her hair, but the wait was entirely worth it. The younger teen had been right, too—Ella could practically sit on her hair. If ever a person who was ingenious when it came to styling hair, it was Evie. Ella's hair was no longer bushy and frizzed out—it was flat with just enough umph to it, and it no longer looked so crazy. In the end, Evie had given her the hot iron, telling her that she had another one she could use—plus the few her mother had gotten at the salon.

"You like it?" Evie asked, hands on her hips, brows raised in curiosity.

"Like it?" Ella gushed. "Evie, you're incredible. I love it."

A grin. "Good! Well, now ya can do it yourself at home. I expect to see this hairstyle next week in school, savvy?" She was joking, of course, but the look on Ella's face was priceless. "Oh, I just meant that I expect that you use that hot iron. I didn't give it to ya for nothin', ya know."

But Ella had plans to keep her hair fixed from now on. She wondered why she hadn't ever bought her own heating elements, or why she hadn't ever seemed to care about her style before. Oh, she had tried using makeup a few times, had gotten help from her mother with her hair, too, but she had never really gotten into it until this particular night, and with a smile, she turned to Evie.

"Can you—"

"Help with your makeup?" the younger girl guessed, grinning like a Chessy cat. "Of course I can. This ain't called a makeover for nothin'."

Ella glanced at herself in the mirror, wondering if she could ever be classified as pretty, but she sure felt good about herself then, like things might just get a little easier.

 _We'll get it together and we'll get it all done_

 _Some day_

 _When your head is much lighter_

 _Some day, yeah_

* * *

 **Check out "God Help the Girls" by Bratpack 2.0 ( _AndThatWasEnough, lulusgardenfli,_ and myself) to find out what happened at the homecoming dance, or to learn why Steve dislikes school dances so much. ;)  
**

 **Thank you for reading! :3**


	42. Hold On Me

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Miracles own "You've Really Got a Hold on Me." **

* * *

_I don't like you, but I love you_

 _Seems that I'm always thinking of you_

 _Oh, oh, oh, you treat me badly_

 _I love you madly, you really got a hold on me_

 **April 19, 1966**

Ella laughed as Evie told her how Mr. Burton had fallen asleep during third period that morning while the class was working on a test. Ella remembered having him for environmental science her junior year, and he was hardly ever with it, always seeming to be elsewhere and never paying attention to what his students did during class time. The only thing he had ever seemed to care about was doing roll call, and then he would simply tell his students to work on whatever assignment that was on the board for the remainder of the period.

"I think he's long overdue for retirement," Ella said as the two came to a stop at her locker. "He's a nice guy, though."

Evie nodded along. "Well, sure. But damn, he oughtta get on outta here, ya know?" She looked down at her nails, nose scrunching up at the fading purple polish. "Then again, I guess him not really paying any attention to what goes on is a good thing, too."

The older teen snorted. "I guess so."

At that precise moment, Steve and Dallas came sauntering up to the girls, Steve nodding once to Ella, his lips quirking a little. He had gotten used to her and his girlfriend hanging around, and he was glad that Evie had finally picked a decent girl to befriend, instead of the girls she usually surrounded herself with, the likes of Sylvia Evans being one of them. He mentally thanked the good Lord above that she had moved away—Evie didn't need that tramp around her.

Steve was good with Ella, not that he would ever admit that out loud. Normally, he never bothered to voice his opinions of Evie's friends to her, mostly because it would start an argument, and he never took enjoyment in arguing with Evie. Other than Soda, Evie was the one consistent person in his life that he could count and depend on, so seeing and making her happy made him happy, too.

"You mind if I borrow my girlfriend for lunch?" he asked, looking at Ella. The question wasn't asked with indigence, though, and he gave her a very small, almost unnoticeable, smile. "That alright?"

Ella nodded, dropping another book into her bag. "Of course."

"See ya later, El," Evie called out, and she left with Steve, leaving Ella at her locker with a certain blond standing beside her.

She licked her lips almost nervously as she closed her locker door, wishing that he wasn't standing there, or that she didn't have to face him. She felt weird, mostly because she hadn't seen him in quite some time, and not because they were on bad terms like usual. She had been trying to forget about him, let him go, but she couldn't, and a lot of times during the days, she found herself thinking about him, and she hated herself for it.

Clearing her throat, she dared a look at him, almost smirking at the fact that his straggly, unkempt hair was falling in his eyes and curling around his ears and down the nape of his neck. She assumed that he hadn't cut it quite some time, and she inwardly chuckled at the image of Evie giving him a haircut—good gosh, but that would _never_ happen, she was certain.

"Hi, Dallas," she greeted, her voice calm.

He leaned on the locker beside her, raising an eyebrow. "So you an' Evie, huh?"

The girl adjusted her bag. "She's a nice girl." Ella knew Dallas well enough to know that he wasn't there to discuss who she was hanging around with—he didn't care about mediocre stuff like that, and she knew he was up to something. "What do you want, though?"

"Came to talk to ya," he answered. "That okay?"

"Aren't you supposed to be meeting up with Beatrice Preston?"

She didn't miss the dark look that shadowed his face for a second. "I'll get there when I'm damn good and ready," he growled. "I wanted to talk with ya about Ponyboy."

Ella's chest seemed to tighten, her eyes broadening for a moment. Dally stared at her straight in the face with a hard expression, knowing that she knew something about the kid. Hell, of course she fucking did, he thought—she was in on it, whatever _it_ was. He had seen them leaving the school together Monday afternoon before lunch, and when he went hunting the kid down after that, he'd learned that he wasn't in any of his classes that afternoon. However, he and Ella were both back at the school just in time for last period, and he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

They had been acting awfully suspicious, too, and remembering last Friday afternoon, he had gone and questioned Mr. Italiano about Ponyboy and Ella going to his class during lunch to work on some project. The man knew nothing of what he was talking about, and Dallas was about ready to strangle the ever living fuck out of Ponyboy for lying to him. But he decided to keep his cool and wait it out, see if there really was anything going on, and when he'd witness him and Ella leaving the school the other morning, he decided that he would interrogate Ella.

"Okay," she responded, sounding confused.

Dallas was straight to the point. "Where did you an' him go on Monday?"

The girl's heart leaped. "What are you talking about?"

Ella wondered how the hood could know anything about her and Ponyboy leaving the school Monday before lunch. She was sure that Ponyboy hadn't said anything, so how could Dallas know? She wanted to run in the opposite direction of him and not look back, but if she did that, he would know that she was lying and covering for Ponyboy.

Honestly, she didn't have any plans to leave Monday with the younger teen, but he had approached her that morning claiming that he had spoken with Mr. Franklin about confirming his cover design and wanted to know if she would be interested in going up to his office with him. Of course, she had said yes, offering to drive again. Ponyboy was insistent on paying her back for the copyright and gas, but she'd brushed him off, not worried about it. She knew Ponyboy was a proud kid, and she knew that he was going to pay her back, even if she refused it a million times over.

The edge in Dallas's voice pulled her back to the present. "Don't fucking lie to me, girl. I saw you an' him leave in your car." His eyes hardened. "Also spoke to that Italiano teacher 'bout you and him doin' some project last week, too."

Ella's lips parted, but no words came out of her mouth. She lowered her gaze to the floor, wondering why it was so hard to come up with a lie just then. She had always been good at conjuring up bluffs and lies to blackmail the towheaded hood, but now she couldn't. Her heart was pounding away in her chest, and her hands were clamming up. She didn't want to betray Ponyboy's confidence, but she knew that she would have to say something to Dallas, or else he would rat them out.

"It's . . . it's not what you think," she quickly said, licking her lips. "We—" She paused, trying to wrack her brain for something, _anything_ , to say. "We just went to . . . north."

Dallas was staring at his old tutor with an unreadable expression, but inside, his blood was boiling hot, his teeth grinding together. The tremble in Ella's voice and the exasperated expression she wore told him that she was flat out lying to him, and he was growing extremely agitated. Stupid bitch. Glory, but he could just knock her fucking block off, he thought bitterly.

"You went north?" he repeated, pushing himself away from the set of lockers beside hers. "Sounds like one helluva lie, broad."

"Dallas," she replied, breathing in hardly. "I can't . . . I can't tell you, alright?" At the drastic change of his expression, she hurried to continue. "It's nothing bad, I swear. But I promised Ponyboy I wouldn't say anything, and well, you weren't exactly supposed to see us leave."

Now the blond was irritated. So he was right, he noted angrily—Ella and Ponyboy both were hiding something, but what? What could possibly be so secretive that Ella wasn't allowed to tell him, and why did they have to go around acting so sneaky and suspicious? The first thought that came to his mind was that they were doing something illegal, but he had to quickly remind himself that this was Ella Mitchell and Ponyboy Curtis he was dealing with—legalities were out of the question.

"I think you can," he argued back, taking a step toward her. "In fact, yer gonna . . . right after this day is over, savvy?"

"What do you—"

"I'll see you after school in the lot."

* * *

As Ponyboy made his way out of the school for lunch, someone called his name out, causing him to turn around and see who it was. He wasn't surprised to see Curly Shepard swaggering in his direction, a cool look on his sharp and cat-like face. He was a little taller than Ponyboy, a little wider through the shoulders, but he was more slender, probably from spending the last sixth months in the cooler.

Ponyboy nodded to him as the two fell in step. "How's it goin', Curly?"

The older boy didn't look like anything was going good for him, but Ponyboy was usually polite, even if Curly Shepard was anything but. Still, opposites though they were, the two had always gotten along rather well, even if Darry strongly opposed the friendship. Then again, Tim Shepard and his gang had always came through for them, even if they had their own brawls once in a while, so Darry wasn't too strict about letting Ponyboy buddy around with the middle Shepard sibling.

The dark-haired teen shrugged. "I hate this fuckin' place."

"Yeah."

Curly shot him a look. "Don't act like you do, Curtis, with all them good grades you make. I'm only here 'cause of that judge . . . and my brother."

"Tim?" Ponyboy hadn't meant to sound so shocked, but the thought of Tim Shepard telling his kid brother to actually follow the judge's orders and finish out the last month and a half of school was somewhat surprising to him.

"Thinks he's doing me a favor, or somethin'," came the hard response. "Hell, I'd rather be back in the reformatory than this shithole." He smirked grimly. "Prison suits me just fine."

The younger boy rolled his eyes, slightly shaking his head. And that was the major difference between Curly and Tim—the oldest Shepard had more brains upstairs than Curly. A lot of guys thought that Curly was just plain dumb, and maybe he was, but Ponyboy considered the fact that the boy didn't really have any kind of guidance in his life, so he didn't care to work hard or set goals or . . . well, do anything positive with himself.

Instead of voicing those particular thoughts, he decided he better not. "Well, it can't be too bad. There's only a few weeks of school left."

Curly changed the topic, already thinking about other things. "There's a party downtown near Brumly's this Friday night. You gonna be there, Curtis?"

Ponyboy's eyes widened. "Nah, I don't think so."

"Well, suit yourself." He grinned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll have to come and hang around another time, Curtis." As the two stepped outside, Curly continued. "You workin' yet?"

The red-headed boy shook his head. "No. Too young. 'Sides, Darry wants me to focus on school. You know how he is with that kind of thing."

Curly nodded, remembering the oldest Curtis sibling. "Whatever, man. You ever need to make some extra dough, though, come and find me. I can hook you up."

Though that was the farthest thing from his mind, Ponyboy merely nodded, wondering why Curly was so keen on trying to hang around with him so suddenly. Sure, the two had gotten along, and sure they were the same age, but they were two completely different breeds. Ponyboy wouldn't be caught selling grass to anyone—Darry would skin him alive, he was sure, and besides, those kind of kicks just didn't appeal to him. No, he was going to be like Darry and get somewhere one day, away from that town and its people, and the only way to do that was by following Darry's—and Soda's—advice about sticking it out with school, focusing, and doing his best.

* * *

Beatrice's face screwed up as Dallas sat down across from her, her expression reflected back at her on his hardened face. She wished that she didn't have to be in this position—subjected to tutoring a real brainless twit, a despicable, no-good hoodlum—but she couldn't go against Mr. Davis, and besides, if she bothered to complain, she would seem weak and afraid, which she wasn't. But, _ugh_ , just looking at the blond-headed _creature_ was enough to make vile creep up her throat.

"English today," she barked out, raising an eyebrow. "Did you bother to bring your literature book?"

Dallas was grinding his teeth very hard, mentally cussing the girl out. The first time he hadn't brought any of his books with him, Uptight had practically screeched in his face about being responsible, going on about the fact that she would not, under any circumstances, let him touch her books, afraid that he was infected with some type of disease.

Not bothering to answer her vocally, he slid his textbook forward, pressing his lips together to keep from spitting out something derogatory. This little Soc bitch would probably cry and complain to Mrs. Philips Screwdriver and have his ass assigned a one-way ticket out of the school if he did, and God just forbid _that_ happen.

Beatrice continued. "I suppose you can start on reading chapter thirty, lesson six. There's a short story that Mrs. Philips recommended you read, followed by thirty comprehension questions that you'll need to answer afterward." She smoothed her dress down, raising her chin at him. "I'm sure you won't require _too_ much help. It's only reading."

The hood hadn't missed the underlying jab in her words, insinuating that he might be illiterate. Dallas was two seconds away from slapping that cheeky fucking grin right off her face, his jaw clenching as he stared at her with an unreadable expression. Glory, but Dopey had never been this bad, he thought to himself as he flipped the book open to the lesson. His eyes scanned the page in an almost scrutinizing manner before he scowled. Just what he'd always wanted to read— _Macbeth_. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He glared at Beatrice. "This ain't no short story."

She merely shrugged, lifting up her right hand to inspect her manicured nails. "Guess you'll be at it for a while, then. Besides, it wasn't _my_ assignment to give, remember? It was Mrs. Philips's." And then the side of her lips curved ever so slightly. "Just don't forget about the questions at the end."

"I ain't reading this entire thing in a half hour."

"Again, not my problem," she replied lightly, smugly, even. "Maybe it's going to be your assignment every Tuesday from now on."

If there was another person that Dallas despised as much as ol' Philips Screwdriver, it was this bitch that was his new tutor, Uptight. He couldn't even stand the sight of her, to be perfectly honest, and the way she bit out orders at him made him seriously consider strangling her, not that he realistically would, even if the idea _was_ incredibly tempting.

Every Tuesday, my ass, he thought bitterly, glancing down at the story again, a contemptuous look forming on his face. Why in the fuck would Philips want him to read this? Glory, but he was certain that he would be doing just fine with a five year prison sentence at that particular moment. Fuck this shit.

* * *

Ella really didn't want to meet up with Dallas after school, but some part of her knew that if she didn't he would merely continue to harass her until she caved, possibly start in on Ponyboy, too, since he was really the one he was concerned about—not her. She had to keep reminding herself that Dallas only spoke to her to find out things about Ponyboy, and not because he had considered her a friend, because he most certainly didn't, and she was fully aware of that.

Still, some part of her, deep down, wished that the blond-headed hood would accept her, even if it was only as a friend. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to get closer to him, wanted to understand him, and she wasn't completely positive that it had to do with her feelings for him. She was able to admit to herself that she liked him, _really_ liked him, but there was something else about him that lured her in, and she didn't know what it was.

She saw the familiar blond hair before she saw him, and her shoulders dropped as she made her way across the lot to where he stood by the T-Bird, his lips seeming to pull up ever so slightly as she walked toward him. A cigarette dangled securely between his lips, an uncharacteristic expression in his pale blue orbs as he stared back at her.

Ella crossed her arms, too lethargic to argue with him. "What did you want?"

But Dallas had other plans it seemed, an impish look forming across his features. "Take a ride."

"What?" she asked, sounding as dumbstruck as she looked. She couldn't fathom why Dallas would want to go anywhere with her—they weren't friends, and she wasn't his tutor anymore. Then again, the idea was awfully tempting, and Ella had to remind herself to not let her feelings get in the way. She decided to decline as politely as she could. "I can't. Sorry."

The blond was persistent, though. "You got work or somethin'?"

If she said yes, he would simply offer to drive her to the store, so she shook her head. "No, but I can't go with you." She sighed, sounding almost exasperated. "Could you please just tell me what you want, Dallas?"

He dropped his finished cigarette on the ground, pushing himself away from the car. "Why's that?"

Dallas knew that Ella didn't work on Tuesdays, it wasn't as if he'd forgotten her schedule. Glory, but the two of them had spent enough time together in the past six months. She looked downright drained, though, and for a split second, he wondered what the hell her problem was. He wasn't in the mood to try to get under her skin, though, and he really wasn't ready to deal with her shit.

Ella's lips pressed together, eyes lowering. "Just please tell me—"

"I ain't tellin' you nothin' unless you get in the car," he stated, cutting her off. Despite his words, his voice hadn't come out too harsh, and Ella merely stood there with a stunned look in her blue eyes. He didn't give her a chance to respond, though, turning on his heel and pulling the driver's side door open, climbing inside. "Let's go."

With a defeated sigh, Ella followed suit, wondering when in the hell she had become so powerless over her own self and her emotions.

* * *

Steve stared at Soda, who was working on the car beside him, wondering what had him in such high spirits that afternoon. It wasn't that he was thrown off or upset about his best friend's recent behavior, but he was a little surprised. Ever since Sandy had taken off and the entire issue that ensued with his kid brother several months ago, Soda had been distant, less enthusiastic, and not as happy-go-lucky as he used to be.

"Alright," the older boy said, tossing his rag into the bucket. He'd only been there for fifteen minutes, but he was so curious to know what was going on with Soda. "What's got ya grinnin' like that?"

The golden-haired boy's head snapped in his direction as he looked over at him from under the hood of the car he was working on. He didn't miss the cocky and knowing look on Steve's face, and he backed himself away from the car, standing up straight and trying to keep the smile off his face. Then again, he and Steve knew each other too well, so there was no way he was getting out of this one.

Soda rubbed the back of his neck, his focus to the side of Steve's head. "I met someone."

As expected, Steve's entire face lightened up. "Who, man?"

And this was the part Soda hadn't wanted to mention. He was excited that he met a decent girl, not that they were dating or anything, but that wasn't the point. She was an upper-class girl, real nice and sharp, probably too good for the likes of him, he thought dully, but they had gotten to talking during the weekend, and he'd seen her twice after that.

"Her name is Mary," he answered, wiping his hands off on his rag. "Met her at Giberson's Saturday afternoon."

Steve's brows pulled together instantly. "She a Soc?"

"It ain't like that, Steve," Soda admitted. "We ain't goin' out or nothin'. Don't think she'd even say yes if I asked her, ya know?" His face fell. "And well, I ain't sure I'm up to datin' anyone yet."

"Like hell you ain't," his buddy replied, and gave him a knowing look. "Listen here, Soda. It don't matter that she's some . . . _uptown_ chick. If ya like her, go for it, man." He chuckled. "Shoot, what harm could it do? And listen, Sandy's been away for seven months almost, Soda. She moved on, buddy, and you gotta do the same instead of tormentin' yourself . . ."

Soda nodded, turning back to the car he'd been working on previously. "Yeah, I'll think about it, Steve."

And while he got back to working, he thought about Mary, her gorgeous midnight hair and deep brown eyes, and her olive toned skin, and . . . He stopped himself, shaking his head with another small grin, wondering what she would say if he decided to gather enough nerve to ask her out. But golly, she sure was pretty, and she didn't look at him like she wanted to spit on him, either. Yeah, she was something, he told himself, shaking his head with a smile—something else entirely.

* * *

"Okay," Ella muttered once Dallas stopped the car at their old tutoring spot, a distant look in her eyes as she turned to face him. "Why are we here?"

"Gotta smoke?"

The girl pursed her lips, wishing that she never agreed to go with the hood. He was driving her crazy, and he wasn't even doing anything this time. Glory, she felt sick just then, wanting nothing more than to just get out of that car and bolt. She could hardly stand looking at him, being near him, and she wondered how she could be so stupid to let herself fall for him, _him_ , of all people—Dallas Winston. She was so unbelievably _stupid_ , irrational, and probably bordering demented.

Instead of answering, she tossed her nearly empty pack at him, hands falling into her lap as her fingers instantly began twiddling together. Dallas glanced at her as he lit up casually, leaning back in the seat like this was some kind of social or friendly visit, and Ella wondered why he was doing this, or what he wanted, rather. Gosh, he didn't even have to say anything to get under her skin.

"So," she said slowly, keeping her gaze straight ahead, "what did you want?" And then she scoffed as she remembered their earlier conversation. "You want to know about Ponyboy, right?"

The hood's eyes fell on her as he exhaled, the smoke billowing around her head. "And you're gonna tell me, sweets." His eyes narrowed. "And don't fucking lie."

She could just run out of the car, she thought, almost considering it. Then again, that would only be stupid of her, and Ella was fed up enough as it was. She didn't want to betray Ponyboy, but there really wasn't a way she could lie. With a sigh, she shimmied around in the seat so that she was facing the boy beside her, a glum look plastering her entire face.

"I'll tell you, Dallas, but I need you to do something for me first," she said, raising her chin. She might have liked him, but she'd be damned if he went back and repeated what she was about to say. At his perplexed look, she continued on dryly. "I need you to promise that you aren't going to tell anyone what I'm about say, and that includes not going back and telling Pony about this."

"Whatever, sweets," he responded, licking his lips. Now he was interested. "So, what's the deal?" And then he snorted. "Don't tell me you two are . . . are—" He couldn't even finish that one, the thought inside his head almost enough to make him sick.

Ella's eyes went stark wide, her jaw practically spilling open. "What? No, oh my— Dallas!" she all but cried. "No, no, no." The word wouldn't stop coming out of her mouth, the stunned and mortified look on her face almost hysterical. "How could you even assume such a thing?"

"Hold up," he bit back, shaking his head. "I didn't say nothin'. Just—"

"Well don't," Ella growled, teeth pressing together. "It's nothing like that. Ponyboy did something really incredible, and he wants it to be a surprise for everyone once it's completed, and if I tell you what it is, it'll spoil it for you and everyone else, alright?"

Dally wasn't quite sure he believed her. "A surprise, huh? One that requires the two of ya to go up north sporadically?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't know—"

But Ella was quick to cut him off, already knowing what he was about to say. "Too bad. I don't care if you don't believe me. That's the truth, and it's all I can tell you." She rolled her eyes. "Look, Dallas, I promised Ponyboy I wouldn't tell anyone about it, so I'm not going to. That's all I'm saying to you regarding the subject." And then she crossed her arms. "Anything else?"

The other teen stared at her. He didn't know what to make of the situation, or why Ponyboy would tell her about something he was doing that was so _incredible_ that it had to be kept a fucking secret. Jesus Christ, what the hell could that kid be up to? He wracked his brain for anything, remembering weeks back how excited he had been about something, only he hadn't told anyone why he was so anxious and happy, and now Dallas assumed that whatever he and Ella were up to was probably the explanation he and the guys were searching for previously.

But he decided to leave it alone for the time being, getting to the real reason he had dragged her ass with him. "Yeah, what do you know about _Macbeth_?"

Ella's brows pulled together in confusion. "It's a story by Shakespeare. I read it in English last year and had to do a report on it. Why?"

And Dallas's lips curved up at that answer. That was just too perfect. "Good, 'cause I'm gonna need yer help with something."

"What?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

A literature textbook landed beside her. "Chapter thirty, lesson six."

 _I don't want you, but I need you_

 _Don't want to kiss you, but I need you_

 _Oh, oh, oh, you do me wrong now_

 _My love is strong now, you really got a hold on me_

* * *

 **Dallas and Ella seem to become "friends" only when it's convenient for them . . .**

 **Thank you for the continuous support on this story! :3  
**


	43. Want It Bad

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Lady Gaga owns "Bad Romance."**

* * *

 _I want your ugly_

 _I want your disease_

 _I want your everything_

 _As long as it's free_

 **April 27, 1966**

Ella exhaled, nostrils flaring as she slammed her locker closed, an annoyed look covering her face as she made her way down the hall. She hadn't been having a particularly good week, and the thought of who she was going to see right then only floored her irritation. Glory, she wished the week would end already, but it was only halfway through, and the girl tried to comfort herself with the thought that there were only two days left before the weekend—thank goodness.

She found Dallas Winston easily enough, as his white-blond head of disheveled hair stuck out like a sore thumb among the other students that were occupying the hall. He was leaning against the wall by Two-Bit Mathews's locker, the rusty-haired greaser tossing a textbook on the shelf inside. He was cackling about something, a grin stretched across his face as Dallas shook his head.

Ella wondered how someone could be that chipper at eight o'clock in the morning, but reminded herself that this was Two-Bit Mathews, and though she didn't exactly know him all that well, she knew enough about him and had heard enough talk about his clown-like disposition. She hadn't spent a lot of time with him, but she considered him to be decent enough.

Speaking of which, the boy spotted her making her way toward him and Dallas. "Well, howdy, Ella Mitchell," he greeted brightly, tucking a book beneath his arm. "And how are you doin'?"

She forced a small, barely noticeable smile onto her lips. "Fine, thanks. You?"

"Peachy wonderful," he responded. And then he went on yapping away like they were good friends from long ago. Well, Ella thought, at least he didn't make her feel awkward. "You know Gina Porter? She's a senior."

Ella nodded, daring a glance at Dallas, who looked ready to bail at any second. "Yeah," she answered, shifting on her feet as she pictured the other girl's face in her mind. "She's in my history class."

Two-Bit was grinning so widely, Ella thought his lips would expand straight off his face. "Well, she asked me to take her to prom. Can you believe that?"

"That's nice," she admitted, trying not to sound strange. She wondered why in the world Two-Bit was telling her this, unless he just thought it was downright ridiculous. "Are you going?"

"'Course I am," the boy replied, and winked at Dallas. "I had plans to sneak along anyway, but now I got Gina as my date, and I sure as heck ain't complainin', she's good looking!"

Apparently, Dallas had enough of listening to his buddy's excitement, because he gave him a shove forward. "And she must be blind, too." He shook his head. "You're fucking ugly."

Anyone else might have looked somewhat offended, but Two-Bit wasn't just anyone, and he had busted out laughing at the insult, shaking his head at the blond. Ella watched the scene with an almost bored expression, not that Two-Bit was a boring guy—she just didn't understand him.

Dallas's voice broke her thoughts, though. "What'd ya want, girl?"

Ella's gaze shifted in his direction, and she thrust a black notebook at him. "Here's your assignment. I finished it last night."

"Better late than never," he replied, earning a glare from the girl. "Thought you would've had it all done by Monday or somethin'."

"Well, excuse me," she bit out, not concealing her annoyance. "It wasn't like it was _my_ assignment to really focus on. You should be thankful that I even agreed to do it for you when I'm not even your tutor or friend . . . or anything."

Two-Bit was looking back and forth between the two quizzically. "You made her do your homework or somethin'?" He stared at Dallas in disbelief, but the hood was quick to respond, an aggravated tone seeping through his voice.

"No. It was that shit Philips assigned Preston to give me, so's I had Dopey here help me out with it," he said, shooting a sarcastic smirk at Ella.

Ella, though, was clearly offended, and not just because Dallas had called her a name, but because he was always criticizing her and putting her down in some way. She was sick and tired of it, and what made it worse was the fact that she still liked him, still wanted him. Gosh, but she must have been sick in the head—her feelings couldn't be normal. Dallas got under her skin like an infection and spread so rapidly, making her sick all at once before curing her in one breath afterward.

Still, that hadn't excused his behavior just then; Ella was done being treated like she was worthless, and before Dallas had a chance to react, she reached forward and ripped the notebook from his hand and shoved it back inside of her bag. He didn't deserve her help, didn't deserve anything from her, she told herself, and after all she had done for him, it only hurt worse.

"What the fuck?" he bit out, jaw clenching.

The girl clutched her bag, glowering at him. "Fuck you, Winston," she said, her voice not once faltering as she spit out the words. "You don't deserve anything from me, and I'm sorry I ever bothered to help you at all."

Two-Bit listened to the exchange, before watching Ella take off down the hall, his eyes drifting toward Dallas again after the girl disappeared around the corner. He had to admit that she had some brass ones to cuss the hood out like that, but he reminded himself that Ella Mitchell had also lunged across a car seat just to nearly beat the shit out of the guy, too. He remembered thinking that she must have had some crush on Dallas or something, but it was quite clear that his buddy didn't feel the same way.

Still, Two-Bit felt bad for Ella, because he knew that the girl had it in for Dally, and no matter how bad he kept treating her, she was bound to come back. The thought of that made him feel sorry for her, and even though Dally was his buddy, he knew that Ella Mitchell could do better.

* * *

". . . and you all may pair up for this assignment if you choose to," Mr. Monroe announced, before dismissing his students to gather in groups.

Ella hated that, mostly because nobody knew that she even existed in class, nobody knew who she was, and if they even recognized her presence, they sure didn't show it. Golly, she might as well have been invisible. The only time anyone that year had even bothered to offer her any recognition was when the rumors about her attack had spread about the school.

With a sigh, the girl tucked herself into her chair, flipping her book open to the assignment that her teacher had given. Her eyes scanned the page with disinterest, and she wished more than anything that the school day was already over—if there was anything that she really wanted to do just then, it was to go home, curl up in bed, and take a long nap.

While she worked, Ella found her eyes drifting across the classroom where Gina Porter sat with Veronica Applegate, wondering what she saw in Two-Bit Mathews. Gina was certainly pretty, Two-Bit wasn't wrong there, but she was a full-out greaser girl—even made Sylvia Evans look tame in comparison to her disposition and style. Sylvia had a reputation, and she was mouthy, loud, and obnoxious, but Gina and Veronica were girls you didn't want to mess with. They were the female versions of guys like Tim Shepard and Dallas Winston.

For a moment, Ella allowed herself to wonder why a girl like Gina would even find an event like the prom all that exciting or interesting. Well, with Two-Bit as her date, she figured that the two would find _some_ way to have fun, fun meaning nothing that would interest the likes of Ella. She wouldn't be going to prom, she thought sadly. She was never asked to school functions like that, well, except for homecoming, but that had been one time. Glory, but the only one who had ever asked her out and showed her a good time was Craig Bryant, but he was dating Jane Sloane now, a girl who was probably twice the woman Ella could ever dream to be.

Speaking of which, the girl strolled past her down the aisle, grabbing a worksheet from the basket by Mr. Monroe's desk. Jane didn't particularly care for Ella, and since she knew that she was the ex-girlfriend of her beau, she would merely sneer at her whenever the two girls caught each others eyes, or look at her strangely, as if to ask herself what Craig had ever seen in her—not that he had truly seen anything. He hadn't even _liked_ her.

"Well, I'm going dress shopping this weekend," Jane said, flopping back in her seat, which was diagonally across from Ella's. She frowned as the girl continued on in a light and chipper voice. "Craig is just _so_ sweet. He loves taking me out, loves showing me off. Gosh, his mother is so nice, too. She was excited to hear about us going to prom together, and Craig was just real happy about it." She smiled, dimples becoming more prominent. "Told me he was glad he wasn't taking his ex. Goodness, but you'd think she was a real lousy girl from the way he talked about her."

"What did he say?"

"That she wasn't any good," Jane answered. And then her voice got quieter. "Apparently, he told Kevin Rogers that she was the worse lay he ever had."

The other girl giggled. "Ella Mitchell? Who would have ever thought a girl like her could even get a date? She's nothing to look at. In fact, I almost felt sorry for Craig when I heard about them going steady in the beginning of the school year."

Ella's heart was racing in her chest, her lips pressing together as she attempted to contain her cool, but with the tears welling up in her eyes, it was practically impossible. She couldn't believe that Craig had stooped that low, had talked that dirty about her. She had never put out for him, and she wondered what else he might have said about her. Glory, but the thought alone was overwhelming, and she found herself growing more and more upset.

Jane merely continued on, and despite being on the verge of tears, Ella couldn't help but listen, eyes fixed on the black notebook that was still inside her bag, her chest tightening up even more. Just how much worse was this day going to get?

"I think everyone felt sorry for Craig," said Jane, sounding almost bored. "He deserves a girl with some class, a girl with charisma and respect. Ella Mitchell possesses none of those qualities—she's hardly dating material. But it doesn't matter, I suppose, does it?"

One of Jane's friends shushed her. "You know Ella is sitting _right_ there, don't you?"

"She's in _this_ class?" Jane sounded mortified. "Good gracious, but I hadn't even realized. Well, it's not like she can hear us with all that dirty looking hair shielding her ears." And then she chuckled, a light and bell like sound. "Does she even have ears?"

Ella forced herself not to listen for the remainder of the period. She had never known Jane Sloane to be so rotten, but then again, she reminded herself that she didn't really know the girl, either. Still, she felt so humiliated and so awful, too afraid to turn her head and defend herself. She felt inferior, knowing how ridiculous she would look if she even attempted to do so. Evie had been harping on her about using the hot iron she'd given to her, but Ella found that she was afraid she would end up sticking out too much, which had made Evie nearly roll her eyes as she called out her idiocy.

Then again, Evie didn't understand things like that—being so much of an outcast that you weren't even known or recognized in your own grade. Lord, Ella was certain that people could practically walk right through her at times, and that only caused her to wish that she could completely disappear. Thing was, she knew that she was really just feeling sorry for herself, even if Jane's comments _had_ hurt her, even if Dallas's earlier behavior had done the same.

Speaking of that awful hoodlum, Ella felt a rush of anger flood through her veins. She had helped him with his English work for the tutoring sessions with Beatrice Preston, had gone out of her way to complete his entire assignment on _Macbeth_ , and all he'd done was complain that it was one or two days late. He thought that he could just walk all over her, and the girl was sick of it. What she didn't understand, however, was why she could stand up to Dallas Winston, but she was intimidated by Jane Sloane.

When the bell rang, Ella nearly ran out of the classroom, and, not watching where she was going, had collided straight into Jane's friend, Mandy. The blond-headed girl looked back at Ella with a disgusted expression in her brown eyes, and Jane scowled hardly, piercing orbs looking straight at Ella's recoiling frame.

"Watch where you're going, you ugly freak," she said, and took a hold of Mandy's arm as the two hurried away, leaving Ella standing there, mouth agape and eyes wide.

At that moment, she couldn't help the tears that began spilling down her face as she wondered— _Why?_

* * *

Dallas needed to get that notebook back from Dopey. He had to meet Uptight Preston in the library for their afternoon session, which he was not looking forward to, and he hadn't seen Ella since earlier that morning when she'd practically turned into another person in a matter of minutes. He didn't understand that girl, not at all, and she was really getting on his fucking nerves.

He made his way to her locker with his fists balled up inside his jean jacket, blue eyes narrowed as he searched around for the bushy-haired girl in the hallway. He knew that she hadn't been to her locker yet—her fourth period class was upstairs across the school, and his was only just around the corner from her locker, so with a scowl, he waited for her, hoping that she didn't take _too_ long. He didn't want to see her really, but he needed that damn notebook from her. She had agreed to help him, and he wasn't about to let her go back on her word.

Dallas saw the girl's head of frizzy hair before he even fully saw her, and when her face came into view, he stared at her with an almost bewildered expression—she was crying. Apparently, she didn't see him standing there, her face streaked and glossy with moistened tears. Holy hell, the blond thought, raising a brow as he took a good look at her. He had never seen her quite look like that, not even when he'd witnessed her beaten down and defeated after Fish-Eyes jumped her, and not even after he'd done a number on her by kissing the shit out of her just for kicks several months ago.

"The hell happened to you?" he inquired, moving out of her way as she approached her locker.

Ella almost jumped back, looking up as she pushed her hair away from her face, startled to see him there and waiting for her. Her chest tightened up quickly, and she assumed that he was only there to get her notes for his assignment. Well, she was done caring, even if she had felt stronger earlier that day; she was just _done_ now. She didn't care about anything else anymore, and she was no longer going to help Dallas Winston with anything, either.

Reaching into her bag, she thrust the notebook at him. "Keep it, but from now on, don't ask me for anymore assistance. I'm done helping you because you to treat me like shit, Dallas." And with a hard slam of her locker door, she glared up at him. "And please don't come near me anymore."

Despite her words, the sound of her voice sounded ridiculous, as if she was a frog croaking. It was from all that crying she had done during history class and during her walk to her locker afterward. She realized that she must have looked like a real fool, trying to tell Dallas off. Still, she'd meant every word of what she said, and she expected him to understand that. But as she went to walk away, turning on her heel with her head down, a hand enclosed around her forearm, and the girl found herself jerked back around, coming almost face to face with the hood.

"You didn't answer my question."

Ella felt her throat closing up, breathing becoming a little forced. "Let me go, Dallas."

The blond was persistent, though, eyes boring into Ella's. He didn't really care all that much about her problems, but she had treated him like shit earlier that morning, and now she was giving him one hell of an attitude. He wanted to know what her deal was, and what he wanted, he got. Glory, and she had the nerve to tell _him_ that he had been treating her like shit. Fuck, but Ella Mitchell was too sensitive, too much of a drama queen for his liking. Everything seemed to get to her—she needed to toughen the fuck up. What the hell ever happened to that girl who had practically demanded that he drag her ass along to Davis's house to destroy the fucking place, or the girl who had nearly ripped his head off?

"You gonna tell what the fuck yer problem is?" Jesus Christ, but he felt like he was dealing with the kid in the beginning of the year all over again when he was covering for George Clayton. He glared at Ella as those thoughts resurfaced. "Somebody do somethin' to ya?"

Ella ripped her arm out of his clutch. "No. Just leave me the hell alone."

And with that, she scrambled away, wishing that she was braver and calmer about things. She didn't bother to go to the library for lunch that day, instead spending the entire period in the girls' bathroom, dabbing balled up toilet paper at her eyes and wishing she was anywhere but there.

* * *

Cherie sighed contently as Dallas rolled off of her, their breathing hard and rapid as they lay panting beside one another on the old, worn out bed. The blond lit up a cigarette, ignoring Cherie as she ran her hand up and down his bare chest, fingers combing through the light hair that littered his skin. Glory, but she could fuck him all day, she thought, placing her head on his shoulder.

"What are you doin' later?" she asked, tilting her head back to get a better view of his face.

Dallas was blunt, not bothering to meet her stare as he exhaled. "Me an' Shepard are going down to the Ribbon tonight to take care of some stuff."

"Oh?" Cherie raised an eyebrow, looking at her boyfriend expectantly. "And?"

"And what?"

She glowered. "Well? Are ya invitin' me along, Dally? You know I just hate bein' all cooped up here by my lonesome. You know that, don't ya?"

And there she went whining again, a trait Dallas despised more than anything. His eyes flickered in the direction of the window, the light from the setting sun seeping through the dust-coated blinds and reflecting on the yellowed and faded walls around them. Eventually, his gaze landed on the girl beside him, and he wondered why in the fuck he even kept her around. She didn't mean nothin' to him, and the only thing she was good at was putting out and getting ripped.

"Yeah, sure," he mumbled, pressing his head back on the pillow. "Whatever you say, hunny."

Cherie grinned mischievously, tossing her leg around his hips as she positioned herself on top of him, a real sultry look in her eyes as she stared down at him, the side of her lips quirking a little. She loved doing this to him—teasing him and getting what she wanted in return. It was always hard with Dallas, but in the end, it was worth every effort that she had to put forward.

"So, that's a yes, sugar?" she asked, a suggestive sound in her voice. "I promise I'll make ya real happy, and I'll make you just fine company."

His expression was blank. "Yeah? Why don't you make me happy right now by using that mouth of yours for something other than talkin'?"

Cherie winked, not once faltering, despite the blond's crudeness. "You're naughty, Dally. You know I like naughty men, but . . . you gotta invite me first." She smirked as he scowled, not expecting to be tossed on the side of the bed.

"We'll talk about it later," he bit back, and gave her a dangerous smile. "Why don't you _show_ me how happy you can make me now, though, darlin'?"

* * *

"What's wrong with you, hunny?" Jan asked with curiosity, rolling a clean bag over the sides of the garbage can. "You've been looking downright miserable all evening, and it isn't becoming."

The teen huffed, eyes fixated on the pile of candy bars beside herself on the counter. "It's nothing, Jan, just stuff with school."

Jan, though, gave her a knowing look, and stood up straight, making her way around the register to get a better look at the girl. Jan knew Ella Mitchell quite well from the past two years they had worked at the grocery store together, and being an older woman with kids of her own, Jan was able to decipher her younger co-worker's moods quite easily. She liked Ella real well, and after everything that she had been through in the past several months, Jan felt somewhat protective of her.

"Don't be lying to me, Ella," she replied, her voice firm but not aggressive. "Now, what's going on with you?" She sighed, rearranging the candy. "I don't like seeing you this upset."

Ella's shoulders seemed to slump as she recalled her history class that afternoon. She wasn't sure why she was letting everything get to her like this, or when she had really become so weak. Lordy, she wasn't so sure she had ever been strong, but this was ridiculous. It was as if she let everyone walk all over her, or push her around, and not just physically. Seeing Dallas Winston just seemed to make everything worse for her, though, and she wasn't sure what to do about _that_ issue.

Her eyes met Jan's, and she nearly deflated, arms stretching out across the counter as all of her earlier emotions were brought back to the surface. She wondered if Jan would think she was just too emotional or something, or if she would tell her she was just being silly.

"I like somebody," she admitted, and then frowned. "It's dumb, though."

Jan cocked an eyebrow, chin lowering a bit. "But that's not all of it, is it?"

"No," the girl answered, sounding almost strained. "It's just that . . . well, some girls were saying stuff about me in class today, and I didn't do anything to defend myself. I just . . ."

And as the girl spilled her feelings to her co-worker, the woman listened to her carefully, wishing that there was something that she could do to help. Unfortunately, merely being a fellow employee, there wasn't, but she figured a good word of advice could certainly help the overwhelmed teenager in front of her, and she hoped it would, for the girl's benefit anyway.

"Just understand, Ella, that those girls are more aware of your positive traits and potential, even if you yourself are not," she said, and offered the girl a small smile. "Just remember that."

And as she gave the girl a wink, turning on her heel to grab the bag filled with trash to take outside to the dumpster, Ella grinned to herself, repeating the words in her head and thanking her lucky stars that she had a co-worker and a friend like Jan.

* * *

"I heard your brother's been hangin' 'round Brumly's outfit," Paul Hopkins was saying, and Tim ground his teeth as he pictured his rough-necked brother, that son-of-a-bitch.

"Yeah?" he replied, stubbing out his cigarette. "What's your point, Hopkins?"

The older boy glared. "He's been selling grass to my sister."

"Who, Sheila?"

Paul raised his chin—he was taller than Tim, a lot broader, too. "Yeah, you heard right. I want you to keep that shithead away from her, you got that?"

Tim didn't even bat an eyelash. Hearing people complain about Curly wasn't exactly something new for him, especially when they were doing the complaining to him. He didn't understand why Curly always found himself in such fucked up situations, or why he was always cleaning up his fucking messes like this, but then again, Curly wasn't exactly known for being smart, and Tim was no exception in thinking that his kid brother was a dumb fuck sometimes, blood or not.

Dallas was watching the scenario with a bemused expression. "You tellin' Sheila to keep away from all the other hoods she's been hangin' on?"

"You watch your trap, Winston, 'fore I split it the other way for ya," Paul spit back, his attention on the blond. His eyes were narrowed. "And you stay the hell away from her, too."

And that only floored Dallas more. "Ain't my fault she keeps coming back."

"You mother—" But before Paul had a chance to finish whatever he was going to say, fist mid-air and ready to rearrange the blond's face, a bottle cracked on his head, causing him to drop like a ton of lead right at his and Tim's feet.

Dropping the bottle, Dallas sneered down at the older hood, shaking his head. What a fucking idiot, he thought, and with a smirk, pictured Sheila Hopkins topless as he ran his mouth across her chest. Glory, but that little chick was something else. Fuck Paul. Still, the asshole was right about one thing—Curly Shepard was a shithead.

He and Tim walked toward the former's car, spotting Cherie as she spoke to some other girls. Dallas shook his head at her, eyes drifting in the other direction and landing on Linda Holland again. Now there was a real catch, one he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his night with. Cherie could find her own way back, wherever she ended up.

"Where ya headed?" Tim asked, lighting up another smoke.

Dallas gave him a bitter smirk, jerking his head in the direction of Linda. "Tell Cherie I'll see her later."

Tim almost laughed, knowing the score all too well. He wouldn't say anything to Cherie Peters—in fact, he wouldn't even go near her. Dallas could do whatever he wanted, it's not like any of them cared about Cherie or what happened to her. Besides, she was a big girl, a real known dealer around their parts, and someone Tim Shepard didn't really care for.

Linda squealed as a pair of arms enveloped her from behind, the feeling of lips pressing against her neck as the smell of smoke and a hint of beer wafted straight into her nostrils. A familiar voice spoke into her ear, and she grinned lethally as she spun around to respond to Dallas.

"Screw you," she greeted, pushing him back a little.

But he only cat-grinned. "What I'm here for, baby."

 _You know that I want you_

 _And you know that I need you_

 _I want it bad_

 _Your bad romance_

* * *

 **Dallas is something else, isn't he?  
**

 **Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading! :3**


	44. Go Higher

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Pop Evil owns "Footsteps (Go Higher)."**

* * *

 _I feel like waking up_

 _I've had this dream before_

 _I'll take these footsteps_

 _Go higher, go higher_

 **May 5, 1966**

Ella ran her fingers through her straightened locks, almost too afraid to step out of the girls' bathroom because of them. She had finally done what Evie had been begging her to do for the past week and a half, which consisted of straightening out her mane of hair and actually wearing makeup. Ella was stunned at her own appearance, surprised that she thought she looked almost . . . _pretty_. What shocked her even more than that, though, was the fact that she had done it herself.

The girl studied her eyes, the shadow on her lids not too dark or noticeable, the eyeliner above thick and long lashes complimenting her almond shaped eyes, making her blue irises stand out a little more with the darker colors. Ella was proud of her handiwork, and she was certain that Evie would be as well when the two saw each other that afternoon.

The bell rang, and the girl breathed in to calm her nerves, rubbing her lips together so the pale, pink gloss shined on them a little more. Walking out of the bathroom, Ella made her way to biology, a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. It didn't help that Craig was in that class with her, either, which only reminded the girl of Jane Sloane's comments from the week before. Glory, but Ella hadn't let them go, and she figured she had a right to approach Craig and demand to know why he was talking so lousy about her, and lying on top of it. She wouldn't ask him, though, she knew she wouldn't.

She took her seat at the empty lab table, placing her bag beside herself. She watched the other students enter the room, glad that nobody was looking at her or taking notice to her tamed hair. The girl almost laughed at herself for being so insecure—of course nobody would notice her hair. They hadn't even noticed it naturally, so why did she think she would stick out now?

Just then, Craig Bryant walked into the classroom, his eyes landing directly on Ella. His expression seemed to contort into shock as his pace slowed down. He took her appearance in, wondering if that was even the same girl he had dated several months ago, wondering if she could even look _that_ good, or if he had actually dated her. She glanced at him, and he forced a disgusted look in his eyes as he glowered, shaking his head and making his way back to his own table.

The side of Ella's lips curved up a little bit as she watched Craig go, and unexpectedly, she felt a new sensation forming inside of herself, one she wasn't quite used to—confidence.

* * *

Two-Bit sat idly in Mr. Davis's office, his feet kicked out in front of him, arms folded behind his head as he leaned back in the plush chair, staring at the man behind the desk. He wasn't quite sure why he was called down to the office, but whatever it was, he just hoped it wasn't bad. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to cause trouble, so it must have been about his grades.

"Mr. Mathews," Mr. Davis began, thumbing through the boy's file, "I see that you have been doing quite well in all of your classes, and you passed the midterm with a B average."

The teen grinned, mighty proud of his accomplishments. "Yes, Sir!" His gray eyes were particularly light that morning, a look of triumph in them. "So's that mean I'll pass for the year?"

Mr. Davis glanced at him, looking neither content or disappointed. "I'd say so, Keith. Remember, though, that finals are in two weeks, but with these grades of yours, I would say you will move ahead to your senior year, however—"

"I know already, Sir," Two-Bit interrupted, sitting up a little. "See, Mrs. Philips already told me that I'll have to take an extra English class since I failed it freshman year."

The man hummed in agreement. "Yes, so she did. You'll need the combined English course to reach the minimal amount of credits required to graduate." He closed the folder, pushing it off to the side of his desk. "Now, Keith, since it does look like you'll pass your junior year, I'd like to talk to you about what classes you'll need altogether next year."

"Alright," he answered, not sure if he liked the tone of Davis's voice. He was quite aware that he wasn't one of the principal's most liked students in the high school, not that he could actually blame the man there. Then again, he'd always considered it a job of sorts to make authoritative figures, like teachers, cops, counselors, or whatever, smile once in a while. It wasn't his fault that they didn't understand his humor. "Two English classes, a math, science, and—"

Davis cut him off, though, looking blatantly annoyed. "Keith, I didn't ask _you_ to tell _me_ what you'll be taking next year." He sighed. "Now, as a stipulation of this high school's requirement to graduate, you need . . ." The man trailed on for the next several minutes, going on about Two-Bit's past grades, or failures, rather, how many credits he was from the district's policy to graduate, blah, blah, blah. By the time Mr. Davis was finished, the teen was practically asleep in the chair. ". . . and with that said, Mr. Mathews, you will have a full day of school next year as well. Understood?"

"Uh, yeah," the rusty-haired teen answered, scratching the back of his head. "Sounds mighty fantastic, Sir." And then he let out a light chuckle. "Gee, another whole year of high school. How 'bout that?"

"Don't sound cocky, Keith," came the sharp response. "This is your last chance to actually make something of yourself instead of becoming a drop out like so many of your friends." He scowled. "I'm surprised you've even decided to continue your education and try for a diploma."

The underlying message in the man's words caused the teen to shut his trap quickly. Like Mrs. Philips insinuating that Dallas was dumb just because he was hood, Mr. Davis was shocked that a guy like Two-Bit would even think he was smart enough to earn a diploma. Lordy, he thought with contempt, no wonder nobody ever took him seriously—not that the term "serious" had ever held much meaning for him before.

When Davis dismissed him from his office, Two-Bit sulked on out, not sure if he should feel proud of himself or not. Glory, he knew he wasn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box, but he sure wasn't dumb, was he? No, he wasn't, he told himself confidently, so why were Davis's words having such an affect on him like this?

* * *

Dallas groaned, leaning back in the chair as Beatrice went over what assignment he would be given that afternoon. Truth be told, Dallas was suffering one hell of a hangover, and listening to Uptight Preston right then sounded like a fucking hyena screeching in his ears. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to imagine Uptsight's hair any color other than blond, because the sun reflecting on it through the library windows was nauseating.

Glory, the hood wondered why he had even bothered to show up for school that day—he was worse off than what he had felt earlier that morning. What in the fuck had he done with himself last night? Well, there was Linda—good ol' Linda Holland—getting trashed with Cherie beforehand, having a run-in with that Hopkins guy about fooling around with his kid sister on Monday night and keeping her out after hours, and . . . oh yeah, listening to Cherie holler at him about fucking around on her.

Jesus Christ, but the bitch was worse than Sylvia ever was. At least Sylvia knew how to play his game, especially where it counted. Cherie Peters was a different matter entirely—not only did she pull at his hair, nearly ripping it out of his skull, she just kept yellin' and yellin' and yellin', until Dallas finally had enough of her shit and literally shoved her out of his room. He wasn't sure what happened after that, but he had woken up feeling so disoriented, he hadn't known where in the hell he was.

"Ugh," Beatrice cried, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically. "Are you even _listening_ to me?"

The blond belched, a tired look in his eyes. "What'd ya say?"

The girl was disgusted with his attitude, that much he could tell, but he didn't enjoy getting under her skin the way he did with Ella Mitchell. The difference was that Uptight would go and complain about his inappropriate behavior immediately, whine like a fucking toddler, and get his ass in trouble, whereas Dopey would get all fired up and come back at him in all her Einstein-haired glory.

Beatrice was glaring so hard, she looked like a statue. "Gosh, you're so insubordinate. I can't believe I have to sit here and waste my lunch period just to . . . just to be here with you while you hardly do anything worthwhile." She huffed. "The very least you could do with yourself is _try._ "

"Just give me the fucking assignment," he growled out, squinting at how unmercifully bright the sun was when Uptight shifted in her seat.

"Well, I was trying to explain it," she all but complained. "You don't listen to me."

He shook his head, closing his eyes. "Who the hell would want to?"

Beatrice was fuming. "Here!" She threw the worksheet at him with an expression of indigence. "Just complete the whole thing."

"Yeah," he mumbled as the paper landed in his lap, his body seeming to sink in the chair a little more with each passing second. "I'll get it to ya . . . when . . . I damn well . . . feel like it . . ."

The girl had had enough of Winston's insufferable behavior. She couldn't deal with him any longer; he was just too awful, too despicable. She didn't care anymore—she was going to find that Mitchell girl and let her handle Dallas Winston, because she was done with him. She stared at his still frame in front of herself, disbelief written across her face as she listened to his soft snores.

* * *

Ponyboy and Steve were sharing a mirrored look of sheer bewilderment as they stared at Two-Bit, both having heard the news about him and Gina Porter attending the prom together. Neither one of them had believed it, so when Two-Bit himself had verified it to be true, Ponyboy nearly choked on his Pepsi while a piece of candy fell straight out of Steve's mouth.

"Are you for real?" the older boy asked, unable to conceal the shocked sound in his voice. "Gina Porter actually _asked_ you to take her to prom?"

Two-Bit nodded enthusiastically. "Well, look at it this way, Steve, at least you'll have some company for the evening, well, other than Evie." He lit up a smoke. "Say, did you even ask her yet, or bother to get the tickets? Prom is only two weeks away, buddy."

Steve leaned back against Two-Bit's infamous rust-bucket. "I was planning on getting them after school today. Evie's been hinting about it, going on about attending dances and shit. I really didn't want to break it to her that I wasn't up for it, ya know?"

The oldest greaser nodded. "Yeah, well, ya got me to look forward to now."

"Oh, yeah, that's a real bright side right there," came the witty response, and Ponyboy chuckled as the rusty-haired teen slapped Steve on the shoulder with a wide grin.

"Don't sound so bummed out, Steve," he laughed. "I make just fine company, ain't that right, Pony?"

The youngest member of the group merely shook his head. "Sure, if that's what makes you sleep at night, Two-Bit." At those words, Steve actually cracked a smile, although it didn't exactly reach his eyes. But Ponyboy continued on. "Did Soda tell you about his newest catch?"

Steve glanced up at him. "Who, that Mary chick?"

Ponyboy nodded. "Yeah. He was thinking about asking her out or something, but he wasn't sure when he was gonna do it. Said you talked him into it the other week."

"Whoa, whoa," Two-Bit cut in, sounding interested with the latest scoop on Soda's girls. "Who is Prince Charming asking out, and how come y'all didn't bother to share this information with me?" Despite the question, the older teen was smirking. "What's this, huh? Some kinda hush-hush?"

Steve only snorted. "Oh, don't feel left out. Dally don't know nothin', either, and besides, it ain't no big secret or nothin'." His eyes flashed in Ponyboy's direction. "Soda met some girl named Mary on the other side of town, ya know, a Soc gal."

Two-Bit almost gagged. _"What?"_

"It's true," Ponyboy said, looking and sounding proud. He _was_ awfully proud of Soda for scoring a job at Giberson's Auto on the other side of town, and for considering on asking out a nice girl. Well, he'd always thought Sandy was nice enough, but he—as well as everyone else—had been wrong about her. "Her name is Mary DeVaney."

Two-Bit's brows pulled together as he tried to mentally find a face to the name. "Don't know her," he stated after a minute. "She good looking?"

Steve shrugged. "Don't know, never seen her before."

Well that was mighty interesting, Two-Bit thought, but he didn't particularly care to indulge himself in the conversation anymore. Besides, he wanted to share his own news about his grades with Ponyboy, as it was he who had made passing his junior year possible. He was sure that he would meet this Mary gal whenever Soda asked her out. His biggest hope, though, was that she didn't meet Dallas first—now _that_ would be just devastating.

* * *

Ella was left standing with look of pure astonishment after Beatrice Preston walked away, practically ripping her a new one about Dallas Winston, not that he was her problem anymore. Beatrice seemed so incredibly pissed at him, and Ella was left to imagine how she had left the blond-headed hood asleep in the library. Well, that was certainly something, the girl thought with amusement—of all the things he had done to her, falling asleep had never made the list.

With a heavy sigh of irritation, Ella made her way to the library, wondering why she had even bothered herself with this issue. Well, ten points for Dallas for calling her out a few months back, she thought bitterly, she did care about things too much. She knew if the situation was reversed, and she were the one who had fallen asleep in the library, Dallas wouldn't so much as blink an eye at her stupidity, never mind actually go to get her before she could get in trouble.

She found him easily enough, somewhat surprised that Mrs. Hughes, the librarian, hadn't. She nearly stomped over to him, arms crossed with a look of utter aggravation covering her features. She hadn't seen Dallas in over a week, and just looking at him made her feelings start resurfacing all at once, a slight blush creeping across her cheeks as she stared down at his sleeping form. There was something different about him when he slept, she supposed, something that made his face seem less hard, made him seem less bitter.

Deciding to get this matter over with, she reached a hand out to shake his shoulder. It only took a few times before his eyes cracked open, lips immediately turning down into a frown. The sheep was long gone, replaced entirely by the calculating wolf in a matter of mere seconds. Ella backed away carefully, her arms crossing back over her chest as she stared at him coolly.

"I can't believe you actually fell asleep on Beatrice," she said, shaking her head. "And I really can't believe that she made me come to collect you."

The blond was blinking profusely, unsure if the girl in front of him was Ella Mitchell. He took in her long and straight hair, the makeup on her face, and . . . holy shit, was that . . . her _legs?_ He tilted his head a little to the side to get a better view, having never seen that much of the girl's skin before. No, she was always dressed _too_ decently—long skirts and dresses, and blouses that were always buttoned up as to not reveal anything. But seeing that skirt on her, which stopped just above her knees, he had to do more than just a double take.

Well, he thought with a smirk, she did have pretty decent legs, legs that he could _almost_ picture being wrapped— A light whack on the head jolted him back to reality, and he glared up at Ella, a sneer stretching about his face as his eyes met hers, wondering what in the fuck her problem was.

"Quit staring at me, you pig," she bit out, shaking her head. "I'm here because Beatrice Preston just about chewed my head off for the way you treated her."

Dallas was just staring at the girl. Lord have mercy, but she must have been hanging around Evie too much, because this was certainly _not_ the girl he remembered. But just because she was showing off a bit of skin and fixing herself up didn't mean that he actually liked her. Sure, her looks were something to be . . . well, checked out, but goddamn, he wasn't going to sit there and listen to her yapping away at him. For fuck's sake, he'd had enough of that shit from Cherie and Beatrice, and he certainly didn't need it from Dopey.

He pushed himself out of the chair, towering over her petite frame. "Would you just shut the hell up already?" he asked, stretching a little, joints cracking. "Yer too fucking loud, broad."

Ella's personality apparently hadn't changed, though, because she snapped at him. "Stop calling me _broad_ , Dallas."

"Or what?" he challenged, looking her over. Jesus Christ, but that hair. "You gonna do somethin' about it, huh?"

She took a good look at him, disbelief in her eyes. "You're _drunk!_ "

"Wrong, _broad_ ," he sneered. "I'm hungover. I was drunk last night." He shook his head, lips curling back a little. "Did that bitch really send you after me?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Why else would I be here?"

"Good question, but that ain't my problem." He turned on his heel, heading toward the hall to get away from Ella fucking Mitchell, and mostly because he just wanted to get the fuck out of there. Actually, he just _really_ wanted to leave the school, head to Buck's, and crash for the remainder of the afternoon.

But Ella followed right on behind him, calling his name out. "You forgot this," she stated loudly as she thrust a paper in his hands—his worksheet—causing other students to shush her. "By the way, Beatrice said that she is officially done tutoring you."

Now that got the blond's attention. "Why didn't you say something sooner? That's terrific news."

"Because she thinks that I'm going to take over for her while she just reports your progress to Mrs. Philips," Ella answered, sounding mildly irked. "I didn't exactly agree to it."

Dallas wasn't exactly sure that he liked this side of Ella, this sassy sounding broad who seemed to leak empowerment or some bullshit. What was it? Evie gave her a transformation and now she thought she was hot shit? Well, good-fucking-luck with that one. Then again, getting the bitch back as his tutor meant getting rid of Uptight Preston, which was fan-fucking-tastic as far as he was concerned. Glory, but he was done dealing with that stuck-up bitch, never thinking he would live to see the day where he was almost glad to have Ella as a tutor.

His stare was icy, though. "Then why are you here?"

Ella narrowed her eyes, her chin raising defiantly. "I told Beatrice that I would wake you up and relay her message, that's it." She turned on her heel. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Wait," he said hardly, and grabbed her forearm, causing her to jerk back around to face him. "You didn't give me an answer."

"You asked me why I was here, and I answered you," she replied. "Now, let me go."

The hood's eyes flickered to the clock, before shifting back toward the girl in front of him. "You got any plans right now, girl?"

Ella felt a pang of confusion at his words. "For what?"

A devilish grin crept along his lips. "Let's go for a ride."

* * *

Glancing at Dallas, Ella thought that he might be sick. Good God, but he looked real pale, something she had never seen with him before. It was as if, for the first time, the hood appeared to be human. The two drove in silence, like they usually did, and Ella was left to wonder _why_ she had ever agreed to leave the school with him in the first place. Sometimes, she really questioned her own stupidity, or how in the world Dallas made her become stupid.

After a while, the blond pulled up in front of a house, and Ella thought that it looked vaguely familiar, as though she had been there before. She took in the littered property as Dallas seemed to scope the area out, his sunglasses hiding his expression. And then Ella remembered—she had been there back in the beginning of the school year with Dallas—it was his house.

"Why are we here?" she asked bluntly, though she was baffled.

The blond teen was straight to the point. "I need to grab a few things, and I needed to make sure the old man was out before I did." Cutting the engine, he pushed the door open and climbed out, making his way toward the porch while Ella was left sitting in the passenger seat.

She remembered the last time she was there, having saw Dallas's father following out after him, swearing and throwing beer bottles after him. The girl inwardly flinched as she thought about Mr. Winston, wondering just how awful Dallas must've had it as a child—she just couldn't imagine how terrible it was for him. She reminded herself that she didn't really know him on an interpersonal level, but from what she had gathered, his childhood and home life hadn't been pleasant experiences.

Without thinking, the girl climbed out of the car and made her way up to the front door, a nervous feeling settling in the very pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to follow after Dallas, but there was some part of her—though she wasn't sure why—that had to see the inside of that house, that had to see where the boy had grown up. She thought it would give her some inclination about him, even if she was prepared to be sick at what was on the other side of that door.

Taking a breath, she ventured on in, looking around for Dallas with shaky hands. She walked into the living room, taking in the filth and thick air, wondering how anybody could live like that. There were empty bottles everywhere, dust and cobwebs in just about every corner that she could see, and the aroma of liquor and smoke was heavy around her.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" came the sound of Dallas's voice, and Ella jumped, body jerking in his direction, a startled look plastered on her face.

"I'm sorry," she replied quickly. "I just—"

"You what, huh?" he barked, carrying a half-filled garbage bag in his hand. "Find what you were looking for?"

Ella took in the expression on his face, could see the anger in his blue eyes, and the harshness in his bitter face. She hadn't meant to make him so upset, really she didn't, and she wished that she had just stayed seated in the T-Bird instead of trying to understand anything. Instead of answering his question, though, she asked one of her own, an almost sad sound in her voice.

"Did you grow up here?"

The blond was glaring hardly, ready to slug the girl. However, her question and the look on her face took him off guard for a moment, and he tossed the bag of his leftover belongings over his shoulder as he wiped a hand over his forehead. His own gaze drifted around the piece of shit he had called home as a child, wondering if it frightened Ella Mitchell as much as it had him as a toddler. He almost laughed at the thought, shaking his head.

His features twisted into something unreadable. "You uncomfortable, sweets?"

But Ella only stayed planted in her spot. "No."

She was so quick to respond that Dallas could only stare at her in bewilderment. He never brought people inside his childhood home, or around his old man, and he never bothered to talk about his past or the things he did unless it was to brag. Thing was, he hadn't said or bragged anything to Ella Mitchell, but she seemed morbidly fascinated just looking around the shithole he grew up in, and he couldn't fathom any of it. Then again, Ella was a strange broad, and he didn't really care to understand her or anything about her.

"Let's go, huh?" he said, and slid past her, heading toward the door.

It took Ella a second to respond, but as her eyes flashed around the house one more time, she couldn't help but feel that she understood, even if it was something as small as where the blond-headed teen had grown up; there was some form of understanding that she had received. As she watched his retreating form making its way to the car, she wondered about him altogether, wishing that she knew more.

Releasing a sigh, she headed back outside and climbed into the car beside him in the passenger seat, daring a glance at him as he pulled away from the curb. She wasn't sure why the blond-headed hood had asked her to come with him, or what he wanted or expected from her, but Ella was sure that there was some sort of understanding between them, whether or not both parties were actually aware of it or not, but still, having stepped inside of his house had offered Ella some insight about Dallas, along with that strange sensation of understanding.

"Dallas?" she said after a minute. At the forced grunt, she continued. "You never actually answered _my_ question."

He shot her a quick look, turning his attention back ahead. "Like I said once before, sweets, home sweet home."

And Ella nodded slowly in understanding, pulling out the worksheet that Dallas was supposed to complete for Beatrice Preston, a frown on her mouth as she found her own answer for the other girl.

 _I've walked an empty mile_

 _Wore down this lonely soul_

 _I'll take these footsteps_

 _Go higher, go higher_

* * *

 **Less than a month of school left for these kids. Will Dallas make it?**

 **Stay tuned! There's only a few chapters left!**

 **As always, thank you for all of the feedback on this story! It's so very much appreciated! :3**


	45. On Repeat

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Christina Grimmie owns "Over Overthinking You."**

* * *

 _Just when I think everything's alright_

 _That's when I overanalyze_

 _I start running away from you_

 _And I don't know why (don't know why)_

 **May 13, 1966**

For the past week, Ella had been tutoring Dallas, prepping him for the finals that would be taking place the following week. The girl was surprised with the hood's behavior, shocked that he'd started paying attention and listening to her—something he hadn't done with Beatrice Preston. The cycle was working out quite well for the three parties involved—Ella tutored Dallas three days a week, he would complete the work, Ella would pass it along to Beatrice, who would then hand it in to Mrs. Philips. The only thing Dallas wasn't able to get out of, though, was the Friday afternoon appointments with the guidance counselor, which always set him in a bad mood.

On the other hand, along with tutoring the blond-headed hood, Ella had been doing extra credit in each of her classes to ensure that she would pass the marking period. It wasn't that her grade on the math section of the midterm had really pulled her down all that much, but she wanted to be sure that she was going to pass with at least a B average. She had never gotten low grades before, and she really didn't want to start then.

Speaking of which, she had spent the last week researching colleges, having thoughts about enrolling herself the following Spring. When her mother asked why so late, she responded with a simple and expected answer: she just wanted some time off. Of course, her mother, always the supportive and understanding type—when she was around, that is—merely agreed that Ella needed to do what she thought was best for herself.

"Hey, El," a familiar voice called out, and the girl glanced off to her side, smiling at the sight of Pony, who was headed in her direction. "How's it going?" he asked.

The girl smiled. "Really good. How about you? Have you heard anything about your book?"

He nodded, ears turning a light shade of red. "Well, Mr. Franklin called me the other night, and Darry answered the phone, so that was certainly interesting." He chuckled. "He had to tell him that he was one of my teachers just calling to let me know that I forgot a book in class."

Ella snorted, remembering how Mr. Franklin was in on keeping Ponyboy's secret about his book from his brothers. The only thing the man had questioned previously, according to Ponyboy, was if he was taking time out of school to make the trips to his office. The younger teen couldn't lie, so when he'd learned the truth, Mr. Franklin offered to just call his house from that point on forward.

"Well, what did Darry have to say to that?"

Ponyboy shrugged. "What he always says when I don't use my head, which is exactly that." With a shake of his head, he continued on. "Anyway, Mr. Franklin just wanted to let me know that the company is running the final edit on my book, and the cover should be completed next week. It's only a proof copy, so nothing's going on the market until I get that approval." He sounded bummed, but his expression still reflected excitement.

The girl could only grin in response, shaking her head a little. "I can't believe how far you've come with it, though, and I really can't wait to read it."

"About that," Ponyboy said, eyes lowering a bit, "I'm going to give you the first marketed copy when everything is all said and done." He sighed. "I want it to be a gift for all that you have done for me this year. I really appreciate you, Ella."

The older teen smiled a genuine smile, her heart fluttering a little. Ponyboy was one of the kindest people she had the pleasure of knowing, and more than anything, she appreciated _him_ , his friendship, and having the pleasure of just knowing him as an individual. More so than Evie even, he was the best friend she'd ever had.

"Thanks a lot, Ponyboy," she replied as the two fell in step. "I appreciate you, too."

He grinned. "By the way, I meant to ask you sooner, but how is everything going in your history class?" His eyes met hers. "I don't mean to—"

"No, no," she responded, and exhaled deeply. She had told him about Jane Sloane's comments the other week, still feeling somewhat miserable about them. It was almost silly, though, that Jane's jaw had nearly dropped to the floor when she'd witnessed Ella with tamed hair and makeup on her face. "Jane hasn't said anything, but sometimes, she'll give me dirty looks. That's all."

The younger teen nodded. "I get that." At her look of confusion, he continued. "Well, George Clayton still gives me looks, too. He don't say anything to me, and it's only quick looks, so—"

"He doesn't do anything, right?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she immediately bit her tongue, offering the boy an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Ponyboy."

He shrugged, answering anyway. "No, he doesn't."

"I'm assuming you haven't said anything to Dallas, either."

"Nope."

The two continued on to their classes, and Ella thought about the blond-headed teen she would be seeing later that afternoon. It always felt strange being around him when he wasn't doing something to irk her, or saying anything to piss her off and get under her skin. Then again, Ella had been acting a bit differently, too, although for completely different reasons. Dallas just wanted to finish out the last few weeks of school and pass the finals to prove Davis and Philips wrong. It was like when she had helped him with the midterms—he listened and focused only because he was trying to prove himself.

Some part of her wanted to tell somebody what she'd done, but she knew that Dallas would probably kill her if he found out the truth about the midterm exams—it was a pride thing.

"Will I be seeing you at lunch today?" Ella asked as the two went to part ways.

Ponyboy frowned, his eyes apologetic. "I'm tutoring Two-Bit today, so—"

"No problem," she replied, before he could feel too bad. "I'll see you later, Ponyboy!"

* * *

Evie found Ella later in the day as the older girl headed in the direction of the library. Ella hadn't been expecting to see Evie right then, but she was still happy to see her, as the younger teen's disposition often could cheer her up when she was feeling down. The two fell in step, exchanging their greetings, and even though Evie had followed Ella into the library, the latter knew that she wouldn't stay very long, as she usually met up with Steve, and didn't exactly find the library all that interesting.

"So, there's a party down at Buck's tonight," Evie announced, taking a seat across from Ella. "Are you gonna be there?"

The brown-haired girl furrowed her brows, wondering why Evie would ask her such a question; she knew that Ella wasn't a party girl. Usually, the only reason that anyone their age would go to that sleazy roadhouse was because Buck served underage kids alcohol. Thing was, he had apparently cut back on that last September when the cops hauled Dallas in for questioning about the murder case involving Ponyboy and that other boy—Johnny Cade. Ella didn't understand the point, or see the fun, in hanging around a place that was usually occupied by the likes of deadbeat cowboys and road whores.

Usually, kids their age hung around The Dingo and Jays, or the Socs went to The Way Out and Rustys, so Ella never understood how anyone would find a roadhouse all that entertaining. Then again, not being a drinker, alcohol didn't interest her.

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come on, El," Evie whined. "Look, me an' Steve are goin', and I think he's bringing along his buddies, like usual, and I really don't wanna be—"

"Alright, alright," Ella said, interrupting her. She knew exactly where this conversation was headed with the younger teen's expression, which reflected a pout. "I know, you don't want to be the only girl mixed in with a group of guys."

She grinned. "That's right! So, you'll be there, then?"

Ella groaned, not bothering to hide her annoyance. "I really don't want to, Evie. Besides, if it's a date with you and Steve, well . . ." She trailed on, really despising the idea of being a third-wheel. She knew that Evie meant well, really she did, but that kind of scene just really wasn't her style.

But the other girl merely continued on, acting oblivious to Ella's resentment. "Well, he'll probably end up hanging with the guys, you know how it is. And then I'll be stuck sittin' at the bar while he goes and ditches me to catch up on what's goin' on with the other hoods in town." She rolled her eyes. "Ya know, I used to think that I did a lot of gossiping, but good Lord, you should hear the boys talk."

"I can imagine," Ella said, and sighed.

"Please say that you'll go," Evie continued on, looking at Ella pleadingly. "Look, we don't gotta stay that long, alright?" She pursed her lips. "Well, me an' Steve normally don't stay for too long anyhow, but it won't be all that bad, and it ain't like you'll be alone, either."

Ella liked Evie, she did, but there were times when she really thought that Evie was just trying to use her for company, which she couldn't exactly understand—she never did make good company, what with her dull and drab personality, and lack of enthusiasm? It was a wonder Ponyboy could even enjoy talking to her at all.

Still, though, she caved, wondering why she was such a pushover. "Fine, alright? I'll go."

The smile on the younger girl's face couldn't have possibly expanded more. "Sounds great! I'll see you there at . . . how's nine?"

* * *

Dallas was, plainly put, in a sour mood. He sucked on a cigarette, inhaling and exhaling the fumes with a bitter expression, not up to dealing with anyone or anything—he wasn't even in the mood to see Ella that afternoon, not that he ever was, but even his grades and passing the fucking school year seemed to have little meaning for him. He considered on just up and disappearing numerous times, but right at that particular moment, he felt it more than anything.

Unfortunately, he spotted Ella's brown head coming in his direction, and his scowl only deepened all the more as he thought about what the next two or so hours would entail. Well, at least he wasn't putting up with that Preston bitch any longer—thank the sweet Lord above. Ella was easier to deal with, and she didn't look at him like he was dirt, either. It was almost comical, in a demented way, how he always got a rise out of authoritative figures sneering down at him like he was a disease, but now it only pissed him off.

"Dallas," Ella greeted, sounding out of sorts herself. She raised an eyebrow. "Are you—"

"Fucking great," he bit out before she could even finish her question.

The girl's face dropped a little at the harshness in his tone, but he didn't care. He had already had the unfortunately pleasure of dealing with Philips Screwdriver, and he didn't want to be scolded by Dopey, either, no thank you. Fuck. He had already heard enough whining and bitching from Cherie, and he couldn't fathom why the bitch didn't just leave his ass if she couldn't tolerate his . . . ways.

Ella pursed her lips, not bothering to say anything until they were both inside the T-Bird. Her arms were crossed loosely over her chest, but her expression remained impassive, like something was on her mind that she was contemplating on bringing up. A sigh fell from her lips as she stared out the front window, and the blond sneaked a quick glance in her direction.

"So," she said after a minute. "I heard there was a party at Buck's tonight."

"And?"

"Evie invited me along."

Dallas snorted. "You ain't the type of girl for Buck's party, sweets. Hate to break it to ya, but you just ain't, plain and simple."

Her head jerked in his direction, a look of irritation in her blue orbs. "You know, I've been to a party at that . . . _place_ before, Dallas. I can handle myself just fine."

He remembered seeing her there back in the beginning of the school year with Fish-Eyes, who had ditched her ass at the bar to play pool and drink himself three sheets to the wind. But there wasn't a party that was going on that night—it was just a regular evening with the usual crowd that shuffled in to get drunk, play a few rounds of poker, hit on some girls, and whatever else.

Ella Mitchell wasn't cut out for the party scene, no way in fucking hell— _that_ he was certain of. But if she wanted to make an ass out of herself, who was he to stop her? It wasn't like he was her fucking keeper or anything, so what did it matter? It didn't.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, gritting his teeth. "Whatever you'd like to think."

The girl couldn't understand why everyone thought that she was incapable of handling herself when she most certainly was not. Having Dallas just basically tell her that she wasn't cut out for attending a party at a roadhouse only made her feel like she had to prove herself—nobody would ever give her the benefit of the doubt.

She shot a look at the hood beside her. "Well, I'll be with Evie, so it doesn't really matter."

Dallas merely stared ahead, wondering what in the fuck was wrong with Evie. There was a difference with Ella and Evie that the former wasn't understanding, apparently. Evie was a tougher chick, she was from the worse side of town in comparison to Ella, whose neighborhood only _just_ bordered the wrong side of the tracks. Evie, though, she hung around the harder girls and the wild hoods, even if she was with Steve, but that was enough to save her ass. People knew she was Randle's girl, and Steve was a pretty well known guy, respected, too, because he didn't dick people out of fixin' up their cars.

Ella wasn't known, she was alone, and she was . . . small, which added up all together made her one hell of an easy target. Good Lord, Fish-Eyes had basically pummeled her several months back, and Dallas could only imagine what _could_ happen to her at one of Buck's parties. They weren't the kind of scenes she would fit into—those parties consisted of older hoods, rougher guys, hustlers, road whores, travelin' cowboys and bootleggers, and everything in between. Oh, sure, a few of the hoods in town looking for a place to lay over would pop in, but nobody in their right mind wanted to get tangled up in a mess like the shit that went down at Buck's—it really wasn't a place that teens hung around.

Ella continued on once she realized that Dallas was off the topic. "What do you want to go over today? I only brought math and English work, and Philips supposedly has a lesson for you in both subjects."

With a scowl, the blond glanced in her direction, eyeing her coolly. Even with her tamed hair and the makeup on her face, she didn't pull off the tough girl look. Hell, she wouldn't even pass as a greaser girl because she was too soft looking. If he didn't know her, he would have still been able to pick up on it, that she was more of a . . . decent type of girl—she was genuine.

He grabbed the literature book, not bothering to spare her another look.

* * *

"Winston," Buck called, nodding at the teen. "Seven to ten tonight, got it?"

Dallas rolled his eyes, reaching behind the bar for a beer and cracking it open, nearly downing the entire thing in a matter of seconds. His gaze shifted toward the clock—six o'clock already. There wasn't a whole lot of people inside the roadhouse, but he knew within an hour or so, the place would be cramming up. That's usually how it always went, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it, especially with Buck's detrimental music taste.

Speaking of which, the blond and lanky cowboy was headed in his direction, and walking in the door was none other than Cherie Peters—Christ a'mighty. The girl spotted him, a smirk playing at the corner of her red painted lips, and the hood sighed. It wasn't even _that_ late yet, and his girlfriend—a term he was using very loosely—was already there, looking to "catch up" with him.

Buck's voice interrupted his thoughts from Cherie. "Rodeo season starts next month, Winston."

"I know."

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. "You goin' back to the Slash J or what?"

Dallas ground his teeth, turning to face the older man. "What do ya mean _or what?_ "

"You gon' muck up horse shit from the stables all Summer?" he bit out, sounding impatient. "I need a jockey, a good one, Dallas, so I need to know if yer ass is up for the rodeo or not come next month."

Now, Dallas always took pleasure in jockeying—it was probably the only thing he really did that was honest. He'd been accused of fixing races in the past, nearly killed a guy for sayin' it, too. No, he had never participated in a fixed race—he did his best to win. Buck, though, he was something else. He'd fixed plenty of races in the past, paid some guys, and made his bets by cheating. Dallas didn't care about none of that, so long as he wasn't participating in that particular race.

"Yeah, how about it, sugar?" came the sultry voice of Cherie. She was seated on the bar stool next to them, lips pressed together as she winked at him. "You're a real great . . . _rider_." The last word slid off her tongue nice and slowly, lips curving up a little more.

Buck was still staring at him, ignoring the girl altogether. "I need an answer by this weekend, Dallas, so's I can get you back in. You'll need to git yourself back in shape if yer gonna race." He pushed himself away from the bar. "If not, you can stick to cleaning horse shit."

As the blond-headed teen watched the cowboy take his leave, he sneered in his direction. He was fed up with everyone riding his ass and trying to tell him what to do and how much fucking time he had to do so. He reminded himself that there were only a few lousy weeks left of the school year, and then he could fucking bail and flip the judge and the fuzz the bird with a shit-eating grin. A grim smile touched his lips as he thought about those fuckers down at the county jail—they probably missed him being locked up in one of their cells, the pigs.

"Sugar," Cherie called, reaching out to touch his arm. "We've got an hour before you start work."

"Yeah, and?" he replied, pulling away from her with an annoyed look plastering his face. "I don't got time for you, hunny, so beat it."

"But I can make it worth your while," she argued, that obnoxious whine back in her voice. "You know I always come through for you, baby, don't I?"

Really, Dallas didn't understand why Cherie stuck with him. She knew he was doing her wrong, hell, _he_ knew he was doing her wrong, so he really had to wonder why in the fuck she clung to him the way she did. Just the other night she had walked in on him fucking the hell out of Linda again, and when he had caught her eye, the only thing he had done was offer her a wicked smile. He'd tried to make it real obvious that he didn't give a shit about her, and quite frankly, he was getting annoyed with her just popping in on him, making herself out to mean more than what she did.

He glowered. "Yeah, but I told ya, I don't have time for you. Why don't you go visit Paul Hopkins, huh? I'm sure he could use you for a good time." He winked at her just to be a complete prick, but Cherie, even though she grimaced a little, didn't back down from him.

"Maybe it ain't him I want."

The blond's ashy brows raised ever so slightly, and when Cherie came on to him the next time, he didn't bother to shove her away. Besides, he had almost an entire hour to fuck off, and if Cherie was offering what he thought she was, he wasn't going to deny _himself_ the pleasure.

* * *

Ella arrived at Buck's roadhouse a little after nine o'clock. She found Steve Randle's car parked a little further down from hers and she was able to relax, knowing that Evie was inside. With hasty steps, the girl made her way up the rickety porch, knocking a few times until Buck Merril himself answered. He took one look at her, opening the screen to let her in. Ella figured it wasn't exactly a good thing if Buck knew who she was with just one look—it didn't really make her feel too hot.

The room was cloudy with smoke, the familiar smell of alcohol potent in the air. Lord, the girl thought with a contemptuous expression, it was disgusting in there. Her face lit up a little, though, her body seeming to loosen when she spotted Evie at the bar just like she'd promised. Ella could tell from the younger girl's dilated pupils and wide smile that she had been drinking, but she was sober enough, which meant that Ella wouldn't have to sit there by her lonesome like an idiot. Besides, she preferred Evie better when she wasn't drunk.

She felt even better when she realized that she wasn't the only one who was a little dressed up. Her attire was similar to that of Evie's—short skirt, fitting blouse—but where Evie was wearing a pair of heels that were probably a few inches too tall, Ella adorned her regular school shoes, ignoring the fact that they made her look like a ditz among everyone else.

"Hey, El," Evie called, waving her over. "Glad you made it!"

The older girl smiled, hopping on the stool next to Evie. "Yeah, I'm happy to be here.

In all honesty, Ella was the furthest thing from feeling remotely happy. She just felt plain weird, like she didn't belong there, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she also felt like she was proving herself—that she wasn't afraid, that she could fit in, and that she could handle herself. Good Lord was she mighty glad that she hadn't said that to anyone out loud, because in reality, she would be eating her own words.

"You look . . . well, different."

Ella cocked an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

Evie scrunched her face up as she studied the older teen beside her. "I guess it's all the makeup you're wearin'. Yeah, that's it." She nodded in affirmation. "I've never seen you cake so much of it on before, but I gotta hand it to ya, El, you can pull it off."

With an internal cringe, Ella merely nodded. "Thanks."

Evie ordered her a beer from Buck, who had waltzed up from the side. He gave Evie an annoyed look, but plopped the drink down in front of her, though not before she paid. Evie slid the drink to Ella, who was looking more and more bored as the minutes dragged on. She almost felt bad for the girl, but she _had_ warned her that there wouldn't be much action for the girls that night. Speaking of which, she spotted Steve talking with a few guys from Shepard's gang, and rolled her eyes, but then, as her gaze slithered around the room, another familiar face came into view.

She tapped Ella on the arm a few times to get her attention. "Hey, ain't that your ex?"

The brown-haired girl's expression dropped immediately as she followed Evie's direction, her eyes landing on none other than Craig Bryant and his group of friends. She didn't see Jane, but then again, Ella knew that Jane Sloane had too much class at show up to Buck Merril's place. Craig, though, was only there to get served cheap liquor, nothing more. It almost hurt to consider the fact that Craig would take Ella to Buck's as a date, even with his friends bringing their girlfriends along, too, but he thought too highly of Jane to bring her along as his date.

She turned back around, nodding once to Evie. "Yeah, that's him."

"You ever talk to him?"

Ella almost asked her if she was out of her mind, but reminded herself that Evie hadn't known that it was Craig who had attacked her. If she knew anything about George Clayton being involved with Ponyboy all those months ago, she never let on that she did, but Ella had an inclination that she might, only because Steve Randle was her boyfriend.

Instead, she shook her head. "No. Besides, he's dating Jane Sloane."

She didn't miss the repulsed expression that crossed the darker-haired girl's face. "Yeah, I heard he's taking her to some massive beach party after graduation. It's supposed to be some kinda big Soc blast or somethin' uptown or whatever." She shrugged. "Beats the hell outta me."

"Craig . . . hates the beach," Ella mumbled, remembering an old conversation between them.

Evie snorted, though. "Yeah, ha _ted_. He's a sleaze, Ella. Forget him."

"You two havin' anymore drinks or what?" came a familiar gruff voice, and Ella jerked around on the stool to face Dallas Winston, who looked incredibly irritated.

"Nah," Evie answered. "We know you're just dyin' to get outta work, Winston." Despite the bite in her voice, the girl was smiling. "Go on already."

Ella licked her lips nervously, her heart seeming to flutter around in her chest. Suddenly, she felt like she was getting too hot, like the air in the room had somehow become too congested and she was suffocating in it.

She shot a quick look at Evie. "I'm sorry, but I have to . . . I have to get some air. I'll be back in a little while, alright?" And, not waiting for an answer, the brown-haired girl practically bolted outside onto the porch, trying to inhale as much fresh air that she could.

Grabbing the railing, she supported her frame, eyes closing as she steadied herself and her rapidly beating heart. Glory, but she was sure she looked like a complete idiot, she thought miserably, but for once, she actually didn't care all that much. It was just that, every time she thought she was over something or able to control herself, she somehow let it get to her all over again, before overanalyzing it, and then running away from it—it was as if her life was on repeat.

She hated Craig, she told herself, and just the thought of him sitting inside the roadhouse, only a few feet from where she stood outside on the porch, caused her stomach to lurch. She wasn't sure why, either, especially when she had seen him every single day in school during first period. Maybe it was just the fact of the reminder that she had never been good enough for him that still played on her, but she was done—she had to be.

The screen door opened and slammed with a bang, the sound of boots walking across the porch until stopping beside her. She didn't even have to look up to know who it was, and she sighed, body slumping down a little as her elbows pressed into the rail.

"What do you want, Dallas?" she asked, sounding utterly pathetic.

The blond merely lit up a cigarette. "Why'd ya run out?"

A sigh. "It was nothing." Running a hand through her hair, her chin tilted as she glanced up at him sideways. His condescending look caused her heart to plummet straight down into the pit of her stomach, and she turned back ahead. "I saw Craig, that's all."

"And?" He sounded absolutely bored.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I thought I was . . . well, I thought I was over everything, that I wouldn't let what . . . he did get to me anymore."

"Yeah, well, let it go or live with it," was all he said, and handed a half smoked cigarette off to her without even bothering to look her way. "Finish that, will ya?"

And before the girl could respond with something, he was already back inside, leaving her standing out there on the porch by her lonesome to contemplate her own thoughts.

 _Should I leave or should I stay?_

 _It's on repeat_

 _Moving on, I won't let it get the best of me_

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! :3  
**


	46. Feeling Down

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Beatles own "Help!" **

* * *

_Help me if you can, I'm feeling down_

 _And I do appreciate you being 'round_

 **May 18, 1966**

There was only one "official" week left of school—two more Fridays would mark graduation—and Dallas couldn't have been happier, well, as happy as he could be at that particular moment. In seven and a half months, he still wasn't a fan of art, but while the other students were taking their finals, he found himself sitting in the art room finishing up his end of the year project.

Mrs. Girdlé watched him from behind her desk with a curious expression. She was surprised, to say the least, when he showed up at her classroom earlier that morning asking if he could finish up his project, so she had let him in, watching skeptically as he made his way back to his usual seat to do just that. She had left him alone, coming to terms with the fact that the blond-headed teen worked better and more consistently when he wasn't being bothered by anyone. She had learned early on that Dallas could focus better if he didn't feel like people were scrutinizing him.

Meanwhile, Dallas colored in his painting, almost impressed with his work, but still feeling like a blasted pansy for doing it. Still, he was sure that he was going to just blow Mrs. Girdlé's mind when he officially turned it in. Since she felt that she had such an inclination about his obsession with jackets, he was going to give her something that would _surely_ shock the hell out of her. He almost smirked at the thought alone—she could even keep it once he'd turned it in. What did he care?

"Hey, Mrs. Gir _dle_ ," he called out, still not bothering to pronounce the woman's name correctly. "You mind if I take this with me?"

She glanced up at him, adjusting her thick glasses. "Just what are you working so hard on over there, Dallas? You've been so quiet."

And he _had_ been uncharacteristically quiet, she thought, which was certainly interesting. The teacher remembered meeting Dallas Winston for the first time, the very first day he had stepped into her class looking so angry and full of violate hatred, and throughout the school year, she had observed him, almost surprised with his change in behavior over the months. But him being _this_ quiet was almost abnormal, so she was a bit surprised when he'd called out her name to ask her a question.

The teen scowled, though. "It ain't finished yet."

Mrs. Girdlé sighed, but nodded anyway. "Well, Dallas, if it's wet, just place it on the drying rack and stop by at the end of the day to get it, alright?"

Dallas didn't say anything, and Mrs. Girdlé merely stared at him for another second or so, wondering what he could possibly be so intent on making that he actually wanted to take it home with him just to finish up early. Now _that_ was positively unusual, not to mention, strange. But she could only bring herself to feel proud of him, because she was sure that he was trying, whether or not he even believed or knew it himself.

The blond merely stood up, shoving his painting on the rack to dry, a thought crossing his mind. He would definitely need to get some extra dough to finish up what he was making, and truthfully, Dallas thought that Mrs. Girdlé would merely coo over it once it was all completed. Well good, he thought, she could fucking keep it and pass him for the fourth and final marking period.

* * *

"How was heaven when you left it?" Two-Bit asked, a large grin spread across his face. "Hey there, do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

Ponyboy rolled his eyes at his friend, who was shamelessly using cheesy pickup lines on different Soc girls as they walked past them. Leaning his head back against the wall, the younger teen couldn't bring himself to understand how anyone could be so chipper after just finishing up a two and a half hour exam. Lordy, he liked school and all, but even he didn't feel that hyper and jubilant after a test. Then again, Two-Bit just wasn't . . . natural, but he was his buddy and that was that.

Speaking of which, the rusty-haired greaser turned to Ponyboy. "What's got you lookin' so annoyed?"

"Obviously you," came the answer from Steve, who approached them as he rounded the corner. His dark eyes scanned the area. "Anyone seen Dally?"

Two-Bit shook his head. "Nup. But he'd better hurry up if he thinks he's going with us to the DX. I'm just about starvin' over here." And as if on cue, his stomach gave a low rumble.

"He had a free period this morning," Ponyboy pointed out. "He should have been here already."

Steve rolled his eyes, though he didn't look as tart as he usually did. "Yeah, exactly. He _should_ have been here, and he should be now, but he ain't." He shook his head. "Lousy hood."

Two-Bit chuckled. "Oh well. He'll just have to catch up with us. Besides, he knows where we'll be." He glanced down at Ponyboy. "Say, you about ready to go, kid?"

But Ponyboy didn't have plans to go with them that particular afternoon. In fact, he had plans of his own, which consisted of going to the library to call Mr. Franklin to check on the status of his book, which was nearly finished the editing process. He just couldn't wait to hear what the man had to say, and he didn't feel safe calling from the house, either, especially when Darry had answered the phone the last time, which had nearly gotten him busted.

"I'm not going with y'all today," he replied, shifting on his feet as he pushed himself away from the wall. "I'm going to the library to work on some extra credit."

Steve wrinkled his nose. "Extra credit? For what?"

"Yeah, who the hell does extra credit this close to the last day of school anyhow?" Two-Bit added, but he didn't sound as put-off as Steve had.

Ponyboy shrugged, feeling his face heat up. "Well, I just want to raise my grade average, that's all. If I see Dally on my way, I'll tell him that y'all are leaving." He smiled. "Say hi to Soda for me."

"Will do," Two-Bit called out as he and Steve made their way out of the building while being joined by Evie, the three falling in step.

Steve was no fan of Ponyboy, never had been, but he felt a sense of discomfort when he considered the kid's words. Something felt rather fishy about the situation, but he didn't care all that much. And besides, it would be easier to talk to Soda without him being around anyway. Still, though, he shot a look at Two-Bit as he mumbled out his next question.

"You really think he's going to work on extra credit?"

The older teen shrugged. "Beats the hell outta me. Who knows, maybe he's meeting up with a pretty dame that he don't want to bring around the likes of you." He grinned like a Chessy cat. "You're just fucking scary looking, Steve."

Even Evie had to chuckle at that, and behind her back, Steve shot Two-Bit the bird, but the older teen was already raising his hands up in the air, a look of disbelief on his face as he stared across the parking lot at Dallas, who was leaning back against Steve's car, a cigarette hanging casually from his lips. Well, son-of-a bitch.

* * *

". . . and you'll be able to pass with an A," Mr. Monroe explained, looking down at Ella, who was shifting on her feet in front of him, a focused look in her blue eyes.

A smile crossed her lips. "Thank you so much, Mr. Monroe. Thank you!"

The girl couldn't have been any happier at that moment. Her history teacher hadn't piled too much work on her to raise her grade, unlike her English teacher, who had given her three reading assignments, followed along by comprehension essays on each reading just to raise her grade back up to an A. Still, she was glad to be nearly caught up and back to where she was previously, the only assignments she had left to finish up being a short essay for Mr. Monroe, and two worksheets for biology.

Ella made her way to the library for the hour long lunch period before the second final. Taking a seat at the back table, she placed her history book on the table and dug around her bag for her lunch. It wasn't exactly nutritious, but it would suffice, and besides, she only had a few minutes to throw something together before she left the house that morning. Good Lord, but she couldn't believe that there were only two weeks—less than—of school left; her stomach was fluttering around with excitement.

As she munched on a strawberry slice, the girl studied the lesson she was going to work on for her history essay, her thoughts drifting toward Dallas. He had seemed rather confident about the exams—as he always had—the other night during their tutoring session. Ella couldn't understand why, but there was a sensation of guilt creeping up her spine as she remembered switching around their midterm exams several weeks back.

With a sigh, she shook her head, trying to clear her mind of those thoughts. But still, the nagging and lingering thought of Dallas and what she'd done played directly at the forefront of everything else, and she couldn't fathom any of it.

The sound of somebody walking across the room caused her to glance up, and she was momentarily stunned to see Ponyboy Curtis making his way into Mrs. Hughes's office, closing the door behind himself once he was safely inside, and across the room up ahead, Jane Sloane entered the library.

* * *

Steve was staring at Soda with a curious expression. He had been going on another one of his talks about this Mary chick that he seemed to have such a fond liking of, and Steve didn't know whether or not to be happy for him, or to tell him to shut the hell up already. He was relieved that Soda was over being hung-up about Sandy Vincent, really he was, but the way he rambled on about Mary, one would think she was the best thing since sliced bread.

"So, did you ask her out yet?" he inquired, taking a swig of his Pepsi.

Soda flushed. "Yeah, but she can't go out this weekend because she's got some recital or somethin', so we're going out next week, maybe."

"Recital? For what?"

"She's a dancer, Steve."

Steve couldn't help the smirk that crawled straight across his mouth. "A dancer, huh? Well, she must be mighty flexible then." He winked.

"Yeah, I'll let you ask her that when you meet her, buddy," came the response, but despite his tone, the golden-haired teen was still smiling, his brown eyes lively and dancing.

At that particular moment, Evie walked inside looking more bored than anything, not that either Steve or Soda could really blame her. Being the only girl at the station, surrounded by a bunch of greasy guys and several hoods, made her stand out like a sore thumb. The dark-haired girl tossed her finished Pepsi bottle in the trash, sauntering up to lean on the counter next to her boyfriend. Having heard the tail-end of the boys' conversation, she jumped right in.

"Ask who what?"

Steve smiled. "Soda here has got himself a hot date."

The girl's eyes went wide. "Really? With who?"

"Well, I don't technically have a date with her yet," Soda said, shooting a glance at Steve. "We were just talking, and—"

"Her name is Mary DeVaney," Steve interrupted, the side of his mouth twitching as he felt his friend's gaze burning a hole into the side of his head. "Know her?"

Evie shook her head. "Never heard of her. Is she new?"

Soda's brows pressed together. "I don't think so." It seemed odd, he thought, that nobody had heard of or met Mary before, but she had never mentioned anything about being new to him during any of their talks together. "Maybe she goes to a private school."

Evie shrugged. "Oh well. Either way, I'm awfully happy for ya, Soda."

And she was. She thought about Sandy, wondered what the other girl was doing just then, and how she was, and mostly, if she ever thought about her old friends, like Evie did. Evie wasn't doing very well in the friend department, especially after Sandy left, followed directly by Sylvia. Her only female friend at the moment was Ella Mitchell, and she liked the older girl a lot, but still, there were times when she just wished for her old friends back, too.

* * *

Ponyboy hung up the phone with Mr. Franklin, a grin the size of Texas plastered on his face. He had just received the best news of his life—his book would be ready in two weeks from that day. The teen couldn't believe it. The long awaited moment that he had been looking forward to for the past several months was only two weeks away. Glory, glory, glory, he thought excitedly, but he just couldn't seem to digest the information. He couldn't wait to get his hands on it, to look at it, to show it to his brothers, who were surely going to be mighty surprised. Hell, _he_ was surprised, and he had written it _and_ kept it a secret since November, well except from Ella. Speaking of which, he needed to find the girl and spill the news to her.

As he stepped out of Mrs. Hughes's office, closing the door and spinning around on his heel, he was nearly stunned to see Ella Mitchell sitting at the back table across the room from him, looking very focused on the book placed in front of her on the table. Golly, but he sure hoped that she wasn't too busy with anything—he didn't want to distract her, but he needed to share his news with somebody, and she was the only person that knew about it.

He made his way to where she sat, trying to contain his excitement. "Hey, El."

The girl glanced up at him, a small smile on her face. "Hey, Ponyboy. What's up?"

"Are you busy?" he asked politely, hoping that she wasn't. When she shook her head, he all but just dropped the news on her. "I just spoke to Mr. Franklin, and he said my book should be ready in two weeks from today."

Ella's eyes lit up. "That's fantastic, Ponyboy! Congratulations." She grinned. "I'm real happy for you."

He flushed. "Thanks a lot. I . . . well, I couldn't wait to tell you about it."

She chuckled a little, not wanting to mention the fact that she had seen him sneaking in and out of Mrs. Hughes's office. Still, having seen the overwhelming excitement on his face before he had even told her about his book, the girl could only assume that was what he had been happy about—it was the only thing that had made him so ecstatic during the past months, and she was mighty glad for him, too.

"Well, I'm glad you did," she replied.

Ponyboy sat down across from her, folding his arms together on the table. "I really can't wait to see how my brothers react to the news. I mean, it's only a proof copy, so nothing is on the market yet, but it's still the first official copy."

Ella nodded. "But it's still your book, Ponyboy, proof or not."

"I just keep thinking about Johnny, what he would think, and I suppose he would be happy an' all—he was like that," he said, remembering his best friend with a glum expression. Even though he had come to accept Johnny no longer being there, it still hurt to think about him.

"Well, I didn't know him, Ponyboy, but I know that he'd be awfully proud of you," Ella pointed out, knowing how important Johnny was to Ponyboy. She felt bad that she hadn't had the chance to meet the boy when he was alive, but from the way Ponyboy spoke about him, and from what she had heard and gathered on her own, she figured that he must have been a really great kid.

The boy smiled. "Thanks, El."

She returned his grin, continuing on. "And I know Darry and Soda will be damn proud of you, too."

"Yeah," he agreed, and then he laughed lightly, shaking his head a little. "I just can't wait to see Darry's reaction. He'll probably ask me how I got up to Mr. Franklin's office, and glory, he'll surely have a cow when I tell him and Soda everything."

Ella smirked. "Hopefully, he'll just be too overcome with happiness for you that he won't be too mad about anything else."

"That'll be the day," came the response, and the younger teen shook his head before changing the topic around. "So, how did your exam go?"

And just like that, Ella's earlier feelings crept up on her all over again, and she found herself suddenly feeling miserable. Some part of her wanted to tell somebody what she'd done, that someone being Ponyboy. She was sure that she could trust him—he had confided in her about his book and had trusted her numerous times over the course of the school year. He was understanding and compassionate, and besides, who else could she tell? Ella wasn't sure why the feeling of switching around her midterm with Dallas's was suddenly eating away at her like it was then, but she supposed it had to do with her looming thoughts of what would happen if Dallas somehow failed a section of his final.

Well, she supposed he would still be able to pass the school year, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Ella had realized a little too late that she had taken something away from Dallas—a chance to prove himself and his grades, to earn his diploma without her cheating his grades for him. Still, Ella felt guilty for doing it, and there was no way that she could tell Dallas what she'd done. Glory, but she was sure he would pound her face in—it was a pride thing, to pass the school year himself. Ella knew that, how much pride he had—he was proud.

"Ella?" Ponyboy called, snapping the girl out of her thoughts. He was staring at her with a perplexed expression, and she apologized for literally zoning out on him.

She pressed her lips together for a moment, before speaking again, a frown on her mouth. "Ponyboy, can I ask you, or rather tell you, something? It's kinda personal but—"

"Of course," he said, interrupting her, wondering what was bothering her, and he could tell quite easily that she was troubled. Ponyboy wasn't used to girls confiding in him about anything, and he usually always went to Soda or Johnny when he upset, so playing the role of counselor was something that the younger teen wasn't used to. "What's on your mind?"

Ella was straight to the point, not delaying or holding back. "I switched Dallas's midterm with mine."

His eyes widened for a second, unsure if he'd heard that correctly. "You . . . You what?"

"Yes," she continued, wanting nothing more than to just sink down in the chair and bury her face in the sand. Good Lord. "I felt guilty about what would happen to him if he failed the midterm, so I went to the guidance office into the back storage room where they keep all of the student files and exams, and well, I switched his and mine around." Her frown was growing deeper. "And now I feel even worse about it because I didn't give him a chance to prove himself, even if he did fail one section of the math test."

Ponyboy couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth, and part of him really didn't want to. He just couldn't believe a girl like Ella Mitchell could really pull a stunt like that, having never believed her to be the type. Surprisingly, though, he wasn't upset or angry, but he was feeling a little annoyed, but not directly at her, only her actions. It was then that he realized how much Ella Mitchell must have cared about Dallas Winston. She not only liked him, she cared about him, _really_ cared about him, and even more about what happened to him and his future. She had gone to great lengths to ensure that the blond-headed hood would get his diploma, because she cared.

"So, what are you going to do?" he decided to ask, sounding just as perturbed as she looked.

Ella shrugged, leaning back in her chair and tossing her pen on her notebook. "That's just it, Ponyboy, I don't know what to do. I suppose I need some help." She sighed. "I just didn't think I'd feel this guilty over it, you know? And now I do."

The younger teen nodded thoughtfully. "Well, don't you think you're . . . being punished enough as it is?" At her baffled look, he continued. "I mean, you're the one who's being weighed down with all of this extra credit and everything else. Plus, you've been tutoring Dallas in place of Beatrice Preston, so if you are able to accept that, I'd say let it go, and this conversation will go no further than between us."

The girl could only stare at him. He was right, she noted, but the guilt was still fresh, and though she couldn't fathom it or let it go at that particular moment, she knew she had to. Besides, like Ponyboy said, she was being punished, albeit in a not so traditional way. She had done the majority of her extra credit, and staring down at her history book on the table, she was reminded that she still had an essay to write along with her biology worksheets to finish and the following quiz. She had also completed some of Dallas's work for Mrs. Philips, and she had done the entire lesson of _Macbeth_ for him, too, on top of everything else. It was slightly funny, though, how Ponyboy's words right then were reminiscent of Dallas's just the other week at Buck's party.

 _Let it go or live with it._

Glory, but Ella was sure glad she had a friend like Ponyboy. More so than Evie even, the two teens had confided in each other and had come through for one another, and Ella was awfully glad that they had become friends. She was also happy that the weight was off her shoulders, that she was no longer harboring the guilt over switching Dallas's midterm exam with her own. But Ponyboy was right, she figured, she could let it go in the end if she considered her extra credit and grades as a punishment of her actions.

"Thanks a lot, Ponyboy," she said, the younger teen nodding, and the two were already engaged in another conversation a moment later, the thoughts of the cheated grade and Dallas in the back of their minds as they talked about Summer vacation.

Unbeknownst to them, however, Jane Sloane stood in the aisle, placing a book back on the shelf with a gleaming smirk stretched across her porcelain face. Oh, this was just too good, she thought mischievously. She had heard the entire last part of Ponyboy's and Ella's conversation, and now she was going to find her boyfriend.

* * *

Dallas smirked as his eyes drifted up to the clock above the door frame, counting down the minutes until he could leave. He was almost pleased with himself for once, and surprisingly, very surprisingly, over a fucking exam. He felt like a blasted fool, a pussy, but there was some incredible foreign feeling of being content, too. The blond had never done well with sitting for long periods at a time, so he had been slightly stunned when he had breezed along through his English test, not once feeling overly anxious about escaping. Then again, the only reason he had gotten through the exam so easily was because he and Ella had gone over quite a few of the reading lessons that were on it, so answering the questions was a piece of cake.

When the bell finally rang, the teen reared up out of his seat, practically toppling a few of the other students over just to get the hell out of there. Glory, but he was done with this day, needed to get the fuck out of that place already, but just when he was halfway to the exit, a thought crossed his mind, one which was a reminder that he needed to head back to the art room to collect his painting. Fuck, he thought with a scowl, turning on his heel and heading back in the opposite direction. Good Lord, but why in the fuck were the art rooms located all the way across the building?

"Hey, Winston," a voice called out, causing the teen to come to an abrupt stop, jerking back around as he wiped some of his white-blond hair out of his eyes. There, standing on the opposite side of hall from him, was none other than Fish-Eyes. "How's it feel being a cheater?" He smirked at the taller boy's stunned countenance. "Heard you cheated on the midterms."

Dallas's eyes narrowed into slits; the last person who had ever called him a cheater was accusing him of fixing horse races, and had ended up swallowing his fucking teeth, and this little punk would be no fucking exception—the blond didn't like to be called a cheater. Before Fish-Eyes had a chance to even blink, Dallas was in his face, one hand grabbing the front of his shirt as he pushed him back into the set of lockers behind him, the other curling into a fist. The smaller boy's eyes widened for a second, looking like . . . well, looking like fish eyes.

"The fuck did you say, you little shit?" Dallas asked, ready to knock this kid's block off. "Huh?"

Before Bryant could answer, though, Mr. Connelly rounded the corner, eyeing the two boys as they stared one another down, Dallas's grip on the shorter teen not faltering.

The teacher spoke up. "Winston, Bryant, I suggest the two of you get on out of here, or you'll both be taking a trip to see Mr. Davis." His eyes shifted between them. "Get going!"

Dallas let go of Craig's shirt, making sure to give him a shove backward before he continued on his way to the art room to get his damn painting. He was glad that Mrs. G wasn't inside, not in the mood to get caught up in having a chit-chat with the woman. Grabbing the paper from the drying rack where he had placed it earlier that morning, the teen left the classroom, wondering what in the fuck Fish-Eyes had been talking about and where he'd gotten that information.

He hadn't cheated on the fucking midterms, so what in the fuck was Bryant going on about? The scowl on his face only became more prominent as he made his way out to the parking lot, hopping into the T-Bird and thrusting the painting into the glove box. He had other things to worry about, like getting to the Slash J to practice riding for the rodeo next month.

He was glad to get away from everyone for the rest of the afternoon—finally.

 _Help me get my feet back on the ground_

 _Won't you please, please help me?_

* * *

 **What's going to happen with Dallas and Ella now that her secret is out? Stay tuned, there's only a few chapters left!**

 ** **As always, thank you for all of the support and feedback on this story! It's always appreciated! :3****


	47. Set Me Free

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Cat Stevens owns "Trouble."**

* * *

 _Trouble_

 _Oh trouble set me free_

 _I have seen your face_

 _And it's too much too much for me_

 **May 23, 1966**

Dallas groaned awake in bed, his white-blond hair sticking to his forehead and neck with perspiration, tiny droplets of sweat zigzagging down his face as he sat up, kicking the blankets off of himself. His eyes adjusted in the still darkened room, and he was just able to make out the time. Glory, but it was only five thirty—there was a whole hour until he really had to get up, but Dallas found that he was unable to get comfortable again, or fall back asleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was met with Johnny's face, the younger teen staring up at him from where he lay on a hospital bed looking so pathetically helpless. The dream always ended the same exact way—the sound of a gun firing into the night would jerk him awake, and he would faintly hear Johnny relaying to him that fighting is no good, before telling Ponyboy to stay gold, or whatever. Jesus Christ, but the kid had been dead almost eight months now, so why in the fuck couldn't he let it go?

And why did he keep having this repetitive dream? What was the significance? He thought about the kid for a minute—Ponyboy—wondering how in the hell he had been able to move on so easily. Then again, Dallas had to remind himself that Ponyboy wasn't the one who had went on an all out suicide mission, who hadn't broken down the way he had in the hospital right after Johnny died.

With a sneer, the blond hopped out of bed, wanting nothing more than to just beat the shit out of someone, or something, or _anything_. Jesus Christ, but every time he thought that he could thrust all of that shit into the past, where it belonged, it came back up and surprised him again. The teen felt like such a pussy for feeling like this, and he wasn't even sure what _this_ was. It was foreign, something he didn't like, something that made him feel completely sick.

Once in the bathroom, Dallas splashed some cool water onto his face before cupping his hands under the tap and then tossing some of it onto his hair, his wispy locks hanging down in front of his eyes as the water dripped onto the counter. Glory, but he was glad that Buck was at least good enough to give him the one room with the bathroom in it, or else he would have to share the main one with everyone else, and at this point, he would probably pummel the older cowboy.

Speaking of which, Buck had been doing nothing but riding his ass for the past few days, going on and on about how much he needed to get his shit together, and how much he needed to get in shape if he thought for one second that he had even the smallest chance at winning a race. To top it off, since the teen had "forgotten" to fill the T-Bird, Buck had made sure to jack half of his pay from working the bar last Wednesday and Friday night, the fuck.

Well, Dallas thought as he made his way downstairs in search of a bite to eat, he could only hope that his day at Will Rogers High School would be better, but who the hell was he kidding? Besides, he still had a score to settle with Fish-Eyes for accusing him of cheating on the midterms last Wednesday, that prick.

* * *

Ponyboy hated Mondays. There was just something about waking up early on a Monday morning to get ready for school that the red-headed teen simply loathed. Perhaps it was the fact that after a two day weekend, which consisted of staying up and out later than usual, that really did him in. He had taken the liberty of hanging out with Curly Shepard Saturday night, unbeknownst to Darry, who merely thought that he was headed to the Nightly-Double.

Glory, he thought as he swallowed a piece of bacon, but Darry _and_ Soda would both kill him if they found him anywhere near Shepard's outfit. Well, he hadn't done anything wrong, and Curly had been asking him to hangout for the past few weeks, so the younger teen decided to get it over with and have himself what he thought he deserved—a little bit of some fun. Okay, so he _might_ have went to a party, but he didn't touch any alcohol and he didn't do anything illegal, so he was still in the clear.

Oh, blast it, he thought bitterly—he still felt guilty for lying to his brothers. He considered Darry for a moment, wondering how he would take it if something had happened to him, if he found out that he'd lied to him. Is this what Ella had felt like keeping her secret about switching Dallas's midterm with her own back in March? Ponyboy didn't understand why he was feeling so utterly guilty, but he supposed it had something to do with the fact that he and Darry had promised to get along—which they had been—and Darry had been lenient with him, but he had simply lied, like it was nothing.

Ponyboy cleaned up his dishes, before grabbing his school books and heading out the door. Darry had already left with Soda, so he would have to walk. He was fine with that, though, as it was a nice day, only a month until Summer. He liked the warmer weather, it reminded him of better times, when his parents were still around, when Johnny was still around—it reminded him of all the good.

Unfortunately, the teen was startled from his thoughts as the sound of a horn blared from behind him, causing him to practically jump right out of his skin, jerking around on his heel to see Buck's familiar T-Bird with Dally Winston at the wheel—glory hallelujah.

"Hey, Dal," he greeted, climbing into the passenger seat.

The blond pulled away from the side of the road. "Hey, kid. How's it goin'?"

Now that was an interesting question, Ponyboy thought to himself. Oh, he wished that he had his book already, that there weren't nine days left to go. Golly, but keeping _this_ secret when he would have his book in only nine days was becoming more and more difficult to manage. Beside him, Dallas cocked an eyebrow at his dream-like countenance, and the younger teen tried to shrug off his eagerness.

"It's going, I guess."

"You look like you've got something on your mind," the towheaded boy pointed out. "Like yer awfully happy about something."

Ponyboy flushed. "Yeah, there's only a week of school left, Dally."

Dallas was too observant, though. Ponyboy might have thought that he was a good liar, that he could have anyone believe him by expression and tone alone, but this was Dallas Winston he was talking to, and the hard-headed hood could sniff out a lie quite easily, and he knew that the kid was lying. He remembered speaking to Ella several weeks back, wondering if this "incredible thing" that Ponyboy had done had anything to do with his behavior just then.

Jesus, but nobody was _that_ happy on a Monday morning.

* * *

Ella sat in the main office, a nervous feeling in the very pit of her stomach. She had been called out of class to see Mr. Davis, and the girl wasn't sure what he could possibly want to talk to her about. Surely, it couldn't be about her grades, could it? No, because Mrs. Philips was usually the one who addressed her academically, unless she was in trouble, which she was certain that she wasn't. There was an odd sensation creeping up her spine, though, one she couldn't shake. It made her feel antsy, and she absolutely hated it. An image of Beatrice Preston came to mind just then, and Ella wondered if perhaps the other girl had slipped up and told Mrs. Philips about what was going on.

Something told Ella that wasn't the reason she was called down to the principal's office, but then what could Davis want? A sigh fell from her lips as she shifted around in the chair, eyes catching the clock as she read the time—it wasn't even halfway through second period yet, goodness.

"Miss Mitchell," the secretary called, and directed the girl toward Mr. Davis's office. "You can go on back now."

The brown-haired girl took shaky steps to the man's office, her hands feeling awfully clammy and her face heating up as her nerves rose to the surface. Oh, it couldn't be anything bad, she thought, almost sure of herself. There was only one full week left of school, followed by four half days, one which included graduation. She considered the fact that Dallas had possibly gotten in trouble, hoping that he hadn't, but she wouldn't put anything past him these days.

Mr. Davis glanced over at her from behind his desk, and Ella realized that he wasn't alone. Mrs. Philips, along with the head of guidance, Mrs. Tanner, and the vice principal, Mr. Soto, surrounded the room, all of their gazes landing on her as she stopped at the door frame. The girl knew that something was definitely up now, and judging from everyone's harsh glares and looks of disappointment, it wasn't good.

She would personally strangle Dallas if he'd done something to screw himself up, and even more so if he had dragged her name with it. Oh, but Ella couldn't have been any more wrong in her assumptions, and she wished that she was anywhere but there.

"Ella, take a seat," Mr. Davis said, his tone orderly. "Close the door behind yourself."

She did as she was instructed, and sat down in the plush chair, wanting to sink down in it. Glory, she felt incredibly overwhelmed, sick almost. Good gracious, why in the hell was she acting like this? And what could be so wrong that she could feel everyone burning a hole into the side of her head?

Mr. Davis cleared his throat, his brows furrowing as he stared the girl down. "Miss Mitchell, does this look familiar to you?" he asked, and held up a test booklet.

Ella didn't even have to inspect it any closer—she knew exactly what it was, and her heart seemed to start pounding faster and harder on its own accord. Oh, dear Lord, what had she done? Never mind that, what was going to happen to her? To Dallas?

"Miss Mitchell," Mr. Davis called again, sounding a lot cooler.

The girl's focus snapped back to him. "Uh, yeah— I mean, yes, Sir. It's a midterm booklet."

Dropping the booklet back on his desk, the man continued on. "Do you know why you were asked to come to my office?"

Yes, she thought miserably. "No, Sir."

At that precise moment, Mrs. Philips intervened, sounding even less pleased than Mr. Davis. "Miss Mitchell, we have received word that you have tampered with two of these exams"—Mr. Davis placed another booklet beside Ella's—"and we have the evidence supporting the claim."

Ella's stomach lurched, and she placed a hand across her middle, her mouth opening but no words coming out. Instead, she sat in the chair as her heart drummed away, a flat tone in her ears as she stared straight ahead, both seeing and not seeing anything. Oh, no, she thought over and over, what in the hell was she going to do? Oh, her worst nightmare, or one of them, was coming true, and there was nothing that she could do. But wait. Who had found out what she'd done? Ponyboy wouldn't have ratted her out, that she was sure of, so who?

Jane Sloane's face entered her mind, and she remembered seeing the girl enter the library that very same day, right before Ponyboy, but . . . she had never seen her leave. Then again, she had been too engaged in her own work, and then Ponyboy had come over to talk to her, and . . .

Oh, glory, but Jane—it must have been her—had heard the whole thing, or most of it. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure the rest of it out. But why? Either way, there would be no way Ella could get out of this mess now, not if Jane Sloane had any input in it.

"Do you?" she asked, her voice coming out terribly small.

Mr. Davis was glowering. "Yes, Miss Mitchell. Based on your handwriting, your test booklet has been placed inside of Mr. Winston's exam book, and his in yours."

". . . that doesn't mean that I did it, Sir."

"So admitting this information to Ponyboy Curtis last week in the library is false?" he asked, already several steps ahead of the girl. "Miss Mitchell, I suggest you be honest." His eyes met hers. "You told Mr. Curtis that you took it upon yourself to enter the storage room in the guidance office where the student files and exams are kept, and you, on your own, switched your exam with Mr. Winston's."

Ella's chin lowered, and she nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"And you were entirely aware that what you were doing was trespassing into a restricted section of the school, going through student files, which is an invasion of privacy, and you deliberately switched around two exams?" he asked, sounding like he was checking off a list. "Miss Mitchell, I could expel you for what you've done."

The girl's eyes became saucers, her blue irises glassy and watery. "Mr. Davis, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I switched Dallas Winston's exam with mine because . . ." Because what? "Because I didn't think that he was going to pass, and what I did was terribly wrong, I know that, but it wasn't his fault, honestly." Her tone was pleading. "Really, he didn't know about it, and he still doesn't. I confided in Ponyboy Curtis last week out of guilt, but please don't bring him into this."

The man's eye twitched. "Dallas would have failed one section of the math exam, Miss Mitchell, but because you—"

"I know that, Sir," she cut in, her chin almost to her chest. "I didn't know that then, and it's my fault that I didn't give him the chance to prove himself, so whatever punishment you want to give me I feel that I deserve, because what I did was very wrong, and I'm sorry."

* * *

"So, Steve is actually taking Evie to prom?" Two-Bit asked, smiling. "Well, I'll be. In that case, I'll have some company other than Miss Gina Porter." The teen tapped his chin. "Then again, Gina _is_ more interested in . . . other things."

Ponyboy cocked an eyebrow. "What things?"

"Shoot, kid," Two-Bit said, cocking an eyebrow. "You know _what_ things. And I'll tell ya this, it ain't no dancin', either."

The younger boy's ears went red, but he tried to play it off. "Well, I know that Steve is miserable about going, but he hates dances and all of that, so who knows . . ."

"Can't see why," came the baffled sounding response. "Dances can be fun, lots of fun, if you know how to have a good time."

Rolling his eyes, Ponyboy stopped at his locker, switching out his books for third period. "Yeah, well, this is Steve Randle we're talking about, Two-Bit. The only thing he can have fun with willingly is cars, or anything having to do with cars."

The older teen rested an arm against Ponyboy's locker. "Now that ain't true, kid, and don't go getting mouthy, either. Steve is just . . . well, you know how he is." Suddenly, he grinned. "Shoot, I'll slip him something that'll be sure to calm his nerves before we leave, and he'll be enjoying himself in no time, know what I'm sayin'?"

As Ponyboy went to answer, though, his eyes caught Craig Bryant's across the hall. He was standing with his girlfriend, Jane Sloane, who was busy talking to him. When Craig saw the younger teen look back at him, the side of his lips curved up, but his eyes were cocky, mischievous even, as if he was up to no good. Ponyboy had seen that look on Craig's face plenty of times, especially back in the earlier months of the school year when he and George were hassling him.

Something in the kid's stomach sank, and he had a bad feeling that something wasn't right, only he couldn't possibly think of what it was. He tried to tell himself that Craig was only trying to intimidate him, get under his skin perhaps, but that gnawing sensation wouldn't go away.

Two-Bit tapped his shoulder. "Hey, kid, you zoning out on me?" He shook his head. "Glory, but I didn't think I was all that boring." And then his brows pressed together as he followed the direction of where the younger boy had been staring only seconds ago. "What were ya lookin' at?"

"Nothing," came the quick answer, but something in the kid's voice told Two-Bit that wasn't true, and he wondered what was going on.

* * *

By the time Mr. Davis decided that he was done with Ella, it was fourth period. The man decided that he wasn't going to take any legal action, however, Ella had been suspended for the rest of the week and could only return next Tuesday, since they were off Monday for Memorial Day. She was also banned from any school functions, including prom, her overall grade average would be dropped one letter grade, and, to top it all off, she would not be allowed to walk for graduation. Instead, Mr. Davis, believing that what the girl had done was so impossibly terrible, told her that she could pick up her diploma after school that Friday—after the initial academic time period.

Even with all of that, Ella felt that she had been let off somewhat easy, considering that what she'd done _was_ actually illegal on two accounts. The only thing that had bothered her was what Dallas was going to do when he found out what had happened. Actually, she wouldn't be surprised if he attempted to kill her right after Davis explained the situation. The hood had already been called down to the office, even though he wasn't in any sort of trouble—which was absolutely surprising—and Ella could feel tears prickling at her eyes as she thought about everything.

She was allowed to finish out the school day, but that was all. Well, she was thankful that this was the last full week of school, so she wasn't _that_ bad off. The thought of Jane Sloane ratting her out, along with the fact that she was her ex-boyfriend's current girlfriend, sickened her, and she figured that Craig had put the girl up to it. Jane had never acknowledged her before, had never done anything to express any animosity toward her, well, except for bad-mouth her, so it could only be Craig's doing. After all, _he_ was the one who had filled Jane's ears with a bunch of lies about her.

Ella wished that all of this would go away, but this entire school year had led up to nothing but trouble, and being involved in any way with Dallas Winston, or even his name, was bound to do that. Glory, but Ella couldn't wait for next week to be over—she just wanted her diploma and to leave this all behind.

Her face was tear-streaked as she exited the principal's office, and as she made her way out, she had noticed a familiar head of blond shaggy hair from the opposite side of the main desk. Unfortunately, Dallas had noticed her before she'd even seen him, and her heart leaped in her chest. Oh, she didn't want to see him, didn't want to look at him, but it was too late—he was already speaking, his words seeming to drift in and out of her ears.

"The hell is wrong with you?"

And then her guilt welled up inside of her, the thought that Dallas would forever hate her playing at the front of her mind, and the floodgates opened up as she shook her head, turning away from him and making a quick beeline for the office doors, practically running down the hall to get to the girls' room.

Oh, how she _hated_ herself right then.

* * *

Ella was all cried out by the time lunch rolled around. She listened as Evie yapped away to her about how excited she was that she and Steve were going to prom together in just four days. Ella felt happy for her, really she did, but she couldn't bring herself to address her feelings properly just then. The younger girl hadn't seemed to pick up on it, though, and Ella was thankful—she really didn't want to share what had happened that morning and spoil Evie's good mood.

Ponyboy had found her in the library during lunch, her head hidden behind a book as she completed the work that she would miss—not that it was a prodigious amount—in the next few days. It had been utterly humiliating to make her way to each of her teachers, explaining that she would be suspended for the rest of the week and needed any work to make up. Ponyboy had only stared at her sympathetically, but he didn't understand how she was feeling, how she was _truly_ feeling.

Glory, but the teen thought that her emotions could just swallow her alive if she let them. Some part of her told her that she was being ridiculous, but not even the rational side of her was enough to console her, or place her in better spirits. Worst of all, when she had mentioned that Dallas would probably hate her, Ponyboy had agreed, shaking his head with a deep frown.

For the rest of the day, the girl let herself suffer in silent misery, her troubles seeming to grow on her and nag at her until she was left feeling completely helpless and wrecked. Good Lord, she wished that she had never switched Winston's exam with her own, wished that she had never met him, wished that George hadn't suggested her name to Mr. Davis back in October—none of this should have happened, but there was nothing that she could do about it now.

When the final bell rang, Ella made her way to her locker to collect her books. She really didn't want to go anywhere near her locker, because she had a terrible feeling that she would run into Dallas, so she had actually considered on skipping out, only to remind herself that she needed her books in order to do the work that she was given during her week long suspension.

As she spun in her combination, the girl felt a nervous feeling creeping up her spine. She wasn't sure why, but goosebumps began forming on her arms, the hair on the back of her neck standing up with each passing second. She decided to hurry up, shoving her books inside her bag, tucking the ones that couldn't fit under her arm. But she was too late, and as she turned around, the unsettling feeling only increased, and she came face to face with Dallas, who was standing behind her, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

Ella's stomach seemed to turn in on itself, and she froze. Oh, gosh, she thought, she knew she would have to face the music soon enough—not that Dallas Winston was a nice and gentle melody, because he wasn't—but she hadn't expected it to be this soon, on the same day everything had happened. She kept her head down, waiting for him to speak, her heart pounding against her rib cage.

"I always thought you were a fucking dope," he said, his fingers sliding into his pant pockets. "But this really sets a new record for you, sweets."

The girl dared a glance up at him, realizing that he didn't look like he was going to kill her, didn't look like he exactly hated her, but he didn't look like he was in a decent mood, either, not that he ever did, but still. And his voice, it was smooth and casual, even though his words held a bite in them, and Ella felt a pang of bewilderment floating around her gut.

Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Dallas, for everything. I know that you don't care, and it won't mean anything to you, but I am sorry." As she went to walk away, though, the blond reached out and grabbed her arm, causing her to turn back around, a sullen expression on her face. "What?"

"I wasn't finished with you," he said, removing his hand from her arm. At her confused look, he merely continued on. "So, you're really suspended, huh?"

"Yes."

Dallas was quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful—he hadn't seen Fish-Eyes all day, had found out that Ella Mitchell had switched around his midterm exam with hers, and had been suspended for it because she hadn't considered the different handwriting. All this time the girl had been harboring this ridiculous secret. Still, when he saw Fish-Eyes next, he was going to make sure the other teen knew the score—he hadn't cheated.

His attention returned to Ella. "Good for you," he said after a moment, and as he made to walk away, he quickly turned back on his heel, a slow grin forming across his lips. "Oh, and by the way, sweets . . . nice hair."

And then he was gone, leaving Ella standing in the hall, her heart beating twice as hard as she thought about her straightened locks.

 _Trouble_

 _Oh trouble please be kind_

 _I don't want to fight_

 _And I haven't got a lot of time_

* * *

 **Thank you for all of the comments and reviews! :3  
**


	48. Green Light

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Lorde owns "Green Light." **

* * *

_But I hear sounds in my mind_

 _Brand new sounds in my mind_

 **May 27, 1966**

Friday arrived quickly, and Ponyboy found himself growing more and more ecstatic with each passing day, and now that it was the last full day of school, the teen was overly excited. He felt bad that Ella couldn't be there, even though she would be back for the four half days next week, but he actually missed chatting with her in the library during their lunch period. Instead, he hung around with the guys, much to Steve's dismay, even though the older greaser hadn't bothered to comment about his presence as much, but that was mostly because the school year was at its end.

Ponyboy was filled with a lot of emotions, the most prominent two being excitement and guilt. He still felt guilty for lying to Darry a week ago about his whereabouts and who he'd been hanging around. It was strange, he thought, he never dreamed of feeling so guilty over something so mediocre. Then again, he remembered his promise to Soda—that he and Darry would get along, that there would be no more fighting, no more disputes—and Darry had let up on hounding him, had been lenient and trusting, and Ponyboy felt that he had—in some way—took advantage of that.

A year ago, he would've let it blow over. A year ago, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. A year ago, he would have found it somewhat rebellious, but that was a year ago. So much had happened that changed the young teen's way of thinking, had shaped him into a wiser person. Now he knew what he had to do, even if he dreaded it entirely—he had to.

When Darry entered the kitchen, looking tired and stressed, Ponyboy's shoulders slumped, immediately making him feel worse than what he had been. Oh, glory, but the stress that was on his oldest brother's shoulders was worse than him carrying multiple bundles of roofing at once.

Noticing his youngest brother's look of distress, Darry's brows pressed together. "Everything okay, little colt?"

Ponyboy's green eyes shifted in Darry's direction, and he sighed. "Actually, Darry . . . no, it ain't." The older boy's expression contorted, fearing the worst, and his brother continued on quickly. "I know you're going to be mad, but I have to tell you something, Dar." He grimaced. "Last Friday night, I didn't go to the Nightly-Double. I hung out with Curly Shepard, and we . . . we went to a party."

Darry's eyes broadened, but he didn't say anything for a minute. Instead, he reached for a plate beside the sink, scooping some bacon and eggs onto it, making his usual breakfast sandwich. He turned to the fridge, opening the door, searching around for something. Ponyboy heard him release a defeated sigh, before his attention returned to his unmade sandwich again, slabbing two pieces of bread together.

"No more tomatoes?" he asked, voice casual like.

"No," Ponyboy answered, poking at his pancakes, glad that Soda hadn't dyed the batter any funky colors that morning. Then again, he had been in a rush, leaving Ponyboy behind to cook the rest of the meal while Darry took a shower.

There was a silence before Darry continued. "So, Curly Shepard, huh?"

"Yeah," he answered, almost sounding skeptical. He wondered why Darry wasn't blowing his top like he expected him to. "Look, I'm real sorry, Darry. I didn't mean to lie to you like that, and I certainly didn't mean to take advantage of your trust, either."

"And you went to a party?"

Ponyboy sat at the table, eyes moving away from his plate of food to the back of Darry's head. He was inwardly waiting for it, for him to blow up and go off about what would happen if he were caught, or if something went wrong, and everything else he was accustomed to hearing his brother explain time and time again. Only he didn't, and Ponyboy was beginning to feel a little anxious.

"Yeah," he said again, this time more quietly.

Finally, Darry turned around, an unreadable look in his green-blue eyes. "Did you have fun?"

"I—" The red-headed teen paused, unsure of how to answer. Well, he supposed he had _some_ fun, but he wished that he'd actually gone to the movies instead. "Not really."

"Yeah, I didn't have that much fun at my first party, either," came the response, and the younger teen's head shot up as his oldest brother trailed on. "I sneaked out of my room one night in junior high, thought I was being smart and careful, but Mom . . . she always knew when something was up, always knew everything somehow." A small, barely noticeable smile brushed his lips. "When I got back home at nearly three in the morning, she was waiting for me, just sitting there at my desk waiting."

Ponyboy was staring at him wide-eyed. "What happened?"

Darry's eyes met his, the iciness seeming to melt away for a moment. "Ponyboy, I can't tell you how disappointed she looked. There was this expression in her eyes that I can't describe, but I could just tell how disappointed she was with me, and that hurt something awful." He sighed. "She didn't yell at me, she didn't scold me. She asked me one question and one question only, kid brother, and I'm gonna ask it to you the same way, only once."

The younger teen was shocked, to say the least. Darry normally didn't get like this, normally didn't let his feelings show—he was hard-headed and practical, and Ponyboy was sure at one point that he hadn't understood anything that wasn't plain, hard fact. Oh, glory, but listening to him then, just hearing the laid-back and reminiscent tone in his voice, gave him some new insight about his oldest brother—the fact that he was still just a kid himself, and it wasn't that long ago that he'd been in these same exact predicaments. He had felt guilty, too, same as him.

At his silence, Darry continued. "Is this who you want to be?"

"No," he answered almost immediately, thinking of their mother and her golden hair and her brown eyes that were soft and warm and welcoming, so much like Soda's, yet more wise and intuitive. "No, it ain't who I want to be, Darry."

The older boy nodded. "That's exactly what I said, kiddo, and Mom, she just smiled at me and told me that she knew all along . . . but what it was that she'd known, I didn't know at the time." He almost chuckled, then. "But, hell, I sure do now."

* * *

Two-Bit was smirking at Steve, who was smoking a cigarette, his face contorted in annoyance. From beside him, Ponyboy was leaning back on the hood of his car, reading a book with a content look, and Two-Bit knew that he was purposely acting oblivious to Steve's mood, but quietly taking absolute pleasure in it at the same time, not that the oldest teen could blame him. He almost wished Dally was there instead of being stuck in the guidance office with ol' Philips just so he could get a few good jabs in at their buddy.

"I can't believe it," Steve muttered, shaking his head. "The fucking thing is tonight."

Two-Bit rolled his eyes. "Oh, quit bein' so bent outta shape, Steve. Just think about how much fun you and Evie are gonna have together, huh?" And he shifted closer to the darker-haired boy, giving him a quick wink. "All that _fun_."

Steve, though, didn't look the least bit enthused with the other teen's remarks. "Yeah, maybe you and Gina Porter, but I really ain't into this shit."

That time, Ponyboy cut in, although he sounded more curious than anything. "Do you really hate school functions that much?"

"Yeah, kid, I really do," came the cool response, and Steve dropped his finished cigarette onto the gravel, crossing his arms over his chest. "Evie's all excited, but she knows I'm not up for it. I tried to act like I was, for her benefit, but that gal knows me too well." A sigh. "I sure as hell hope I don't ruin all her fun."

"And just how are you gonna do that?" Two-Bit inquired. "She'll be happy that you're even taking her, know what I'm sayin'?" And then he laughed. "Shoot, Steve, be glad that you even had a date to go with ya. Me? Gina Porter asked me out."

Ponyboy's brows pressed together. "You're not a senior, Two-Bit."

"Doesn't mean I can't go, does it, kid?"

Now, why in the almighty universe somebody would want to sneak into prom was confusing to the younger teen, but he merely shook his head at the thought. He actually felt sorry for Steve, but he had always been good to Evie, always did anything she wanted, too. Ponyboy might not have liked his brother's best buddy all that much, but he had to respect him.

Steve turned his attention toward Two-Bit. "You drivin' tonight?"

A nod. "Yup. I'm picking Gina up around five or so, and then we're leaving right from her house. She said her mother is gonna want all kinds of pictures, so . . ."

"God help the camera lens," Steve quipped, shaking his head as he lit up another cigarette.

The rusty-haired boy pointed a finger at him. "Watch yer trap there, Randle. I'll let Evie know that you've been a real bad boy."

Ponyboy's eyes went wide, and he felt a strong urge to step away from his friends, glad that Dallas wasn't there to hear this conversation—that would be all he needed. Still, he shook his head as Steve and Two-Bit playfully went back and forth at each other, imagining Johnny's reaction if he was still around with them.

* * *

Dallas was more than thankful that he would _never_ have to see Philips Screwdriver again. He hated her more than anyone else at the high school, and he could tell that the feeling was entirely mutual, especially when she stared down at him like he was the most worthless thing she'd ever set eyes on. He gave it right back to her, though, glowering across the desk from her as she sorted through his file, her gaze landing on him every few seconds.

Finally, she spoke. "Well, Mr. Winston, it seems that, as of right now, you'll be passing the school year after all with a C average." When he didn't respond, she continued. "I've spoken with Miss Preston, and she relayed that you both are finished with the tutoring as well."

The blond hummed in agreement. "So's that it?"

Mrs. Philips suppressed a sigh. "Not quite, Mr. Winston. You understand that you are not going to be walking, right? You will pick up your diploma in the main office Friday afternoon, and—" She paused, looking at his file skeptically. "You weren't attending prom, were you?"

Oh, glory, Dallas could have laughed in the woman's face. He wouldn't attend any fucking prom—good Lord, but he could understand Randle's damn frustration, those things just weren't his style. He couldn't believe Philips Screwdriver was actually sitting there, high and mighty, asking him if he was going to the prom, and to top it all off, she was rereading what he'd been told at the very beginning of the school year—that he wouldn't be allowed to walk.

He didn't fucking care—he didn't even want to be there. It was humiliating, to say the least, this _entire_ fucking thing was humiliating. Jesus Christ, but next Friday couldn't come fast enough—he wanted out.

"You gotta bolt loose if you think I'd even consider it," he said, watching as she cringed away from the harshness in his voice.

"Right," the woman said, lips curling a little in disgust. "Next week, you'll have to see Mr. Davis for one last meeting just to get you cleared up with your . . . probation."

The teen rolled his eyes. "I know this shit already, lady."

Mrs. Philips was growing annoyed with his behavior. "Then I suppose you can return to class, Mr. Winston." Her tone was awfully snarky. "Have a nice Summer."

With a bitter scowl, Dallas stood up and made his way out of her office, jamming his hands in his pant pockets. He would have told her to have a nice Summer, too, but more than anything, he really hoped that she got hit by a bus.

* * *

Ella was completely bored. There was absolutely nothing going on at the store, but she was at least a little grateful to be out rather than stuck at home with even less to do. Since she was suspended, she had asked for extra hours at work to keep her occupied—she had finished all of her assignments in the first two days of her suspension, so she was officially caught up in each of her classes, and she was finished with the extra credit as well. The only thing she would have to do was take the final quiz in biology when she returned Tuesday morning.

The girl couldn't believe that the school year was practically over, that the senior prom was that night, that she had made it to graduation—she was almost done with school. Of course, when her mother had found out that her daughter wouldn't be walking at the ceremony, she had been livid. Ella was more than humiliated when she explained the reason behind her suspension.

"Ella Louise Mitchell," Frances had yelled, shaking her head in anger. "Just what have you done?"

And the girl had only stood there like a fool, explaining that she had switched two midterm exams out of pity, and that the girlfriend of her ex-boyfriend had turned her in after eavesdropping on a private conversation between her and Ponyboy Curtis. And the thing that made it worse was the fact that her mother had nearly died of shock when she found out that Ella had been helping Dallas Winston. The blond-headed hood was notorious in town, and even though he hadn't made the papers for doing anything illegal lately, his name hadn't been tossed to the wind and forgotten, either.

"Dallas Winston?" Frances screeched. She was red in the face. "You've been . . . Oh my God!" she all but cried. "I just can't believe this. Ella Louise, what in the world were you thinking?"

Glory, but Ella could still hear her mother lecturing her over and over again, going on that Dallas was a bad guy, that she shouldn't have thought twice about helping him, and that she could just go off on Mr. Davis for ever considering on placing Ella as his tutor. Some part of Ella felt bad hearing her mother talk like that, her feelings twisting around as she thought about Dallas.

She hadn't seen the blond since Monday, and she wondered why he hadn't lashed out at her, why he blew the entire thing off like what she'd done hadn't affected him in the least. She had expected him to at least scream in her face, only he hadn't, instead complimenting her hair. The girl had flushed just remembering that, but she still hated herself all the same for thinking that way. Good Lord, if her mother only knew how she felt.

Even though the girl felt bad about disappointing her mother, the other part of her rationalized that she had served her punishment, and she didn't mind. In all honesty, walking for graduation didn't mean that much to her—she would still have her diploma, and she would still be a graduate. She had helped Dallas pass the school year as well, and even though the school year itself had been entirely crazy, an entire web weaved with absolute craziness, she was proud.

Ella smiled to herself as she made her way to the back room for her lunch break, a little sad that Jan still wasn't there so that she had some company, but the older woman would be working the evening shift that day anyway, having requested the morning off to take care of her sick daughter until her husband got home.

Taking a bite of her sandwich, Ella thought that she had actually made out okay.

* * *

Dallas had been patient, which was an uncharacteristic and dangerous combination. But he had been so patient, calm even. He waited, broodingly so, his vexation brewing beneath the cool facade that made up his exterior for the last few hours of the school day. The blond leaned back against a row of lockers, arms crossed over his chest, icy blue eyes scanning the hall for the one person he'd been looking forward to meeting up with for over a week—but he'd been biding his time—carefully, collectedly.

He spotted the brown-haired boy immediately as he headed in the direction of the exit, his head held in a proud manner, eyes glowing with excitement—probably because he was looking for a piece of action that night at the prom, the fuck. As he walked on, Dallas followed behind him, ignoring the other students who occupied the hall, too immersed in whatever they were doing to realize what was going on around them.

Patience wasn't a known trait of Dallas Winston's, but with that patience, the hood had scoped out Craig Bryant, followed him around the school for a few days, and learned where he would be at different times of the day, which had come in quite handy . . . for moments like this. Unbeknownst to Craig, Dallas followed him, only intentionally catching up to him when they were close enough to the vacant science lab.

Craig wasn't expecting an arm to drape casually around his shoulders, the intoxicating smell of tobacco and weed wafting directly into his nostrils. The blond's arm bent around the shorter boy's neck, a silent warning not to open his mouth, even though Craig felt more like he was about to choke. He hadn't expected to see Winston, and he knew that the hoodlum couldn't get into any trouble, or else he would be sentenced behind bars for five years.

Before he could say anything, though, or even wheeze, Dallas tugged him into the empty classroom, easily kicking the door shut, before shoving the boy up against the wall, his face coming within a few inches of his. Craig's eyes were wide, his breathing heavy, but he refused to cower in front of the likes of Winston—he hated him, _hated_ him for what happened to George all those months ago, and for . . . for everything, essentially.

"What—" he went to say, but Dallas cut him off, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Relax, _Fish-Eyes_ , we're only gonna have a little chat," he said, his voice coming out casually, which made Craig even more concerned.

His nose wrinkled in disgust as he tried to maneuver himself away from the blond. "Yeah? About what, Winston?" He ground his teeth. "I could have you expelled for this."

"And expose yourself?" Dallas taunted, and at the boy's perturbed expression, continued on. "I wanna know where in the fuck you heard that I cheated on those exams, you fuckin' prick." When Craig didn't answer fast enough, the blond's hand moved to his neck, watching as his eyes became wider and wider with each breath he took. "Well?" he growled.

Craig, unable to keep his cool with the hood's hand wrapped around his throat, cringed, and whatever pride he had for himself was gone the second he sniffled, his bottom lip trembling a bit as he turned his head the other way, complete embarrassment taking over his features. But Dallas didn't care, only baring his teeth and pressing harder, until the smaller boy caved.

"My girlfriend," he panted, trying to gasp for air. "She . . . heard . . . Ella Mitchell telling . . . Ponyboy Curtis that she . . . switched your exam . . . with . . . hers . . ."

At that answer, Dallas let up on his hold, allowing the kid some oxygen. "Your girlfriend, huh?"

Craig nodded, still panting. "She . . . heard them . . . talking about . . . it."

"And she informed Davis?"

The brown-haired boy shook his head. "I did."

Oh, he thought contemptuously, because beating the shit out of Ella Mitchell back in January just wasn't enough for him. Apparently, getting the fucker in trouble for vandalism hadn't been enough of a warning, and he just had to get his kicks in on a girl, a pathetic one like Ella, no less. Jesus Christ, he thought to himself, this guy was a real fucking sleaze, and he wasn't worth it, he wasn't worth the shit on the bottom of a shoe.

Anger boiling to surface, Dallas grabbed the other boy and slammed him back again. "You're a real piece of shit, you scumbag. What'd that girl ever do to you, huh?" He wasn't sure if he was angry that Fish-Eyes had accused him of cheating, or if remembering Ella's face covered in bruises pissed him off more than just a false accusation. Either way, he was livid, and Craig's face in his vision was coated with red—he could kill this prick. Before the teen knew what he was doing, he acted on impulse, his blade suddenly at the base of Craig's throat.

The boy was practically in tears. "I didn't mean to hurt her . . . _shit_. Please, man . . . let me go." He took a sharp intake of air. "I'm sorry about what happened to her, and I'm sorry she got suspended."

"Sorry, my ass," the hood snarled, spit flying off his lip. "You ain't sorry for nothin'!"

There were tears falling down Craig's face—he _was_ sorry, really he was. "Please," he begged. "Please, man. I am sorry. For Christ's sake, don't _kill_ me."

Dallas could have laughed at this pussy—he knew he had him, then. Fish-Eyes actually thought that he would kill him. But Dallas's blood was boiling in his veins, and he knew if he didn't let the kid go, he might actually do something rash out of impulse. Glory, but just looking at the other guy was sickening, he was pathetic, more pathetic than he'd ever thought. Well, at least he knew one thing—Craig _did_ know the truth, that he hadn't cheated, that his girl had told him about a conversation between Ponyboy and Ella—well son-of-a-bitch.

With an irritated growl, the blond flicked his blade closed, noticing a small, thin trail of blood making its way down Craig's throat, mixing in with his tear tracks. He could have killed him, he noted, he really could have. His teeth were pressed together, lips curled back, eyes cold and unfeeling—all of his emotions were absent, except for rage, otherwise, he was completely apathetic.

Moving away from Craig, he spit at him. "This _never_ fucking happened, got it?"

Craig nodded rapidly, his chest moving up and down as he heaved. "Understood."

* * *

Soda eyed himself in the mirror that evening, studying his face and his attire. He wanted to look good for Mary, he wanted to impress her. Golly, but he was nervous, he thought as he ran a comb through his golden hair, slicking it back with grease. He wondered what a girl like Mary saw in him—she was different than the other girls he'd encountered, even Sandy. His heart sank a little as he remembered his ex-girlfriend, remembered how she left him nine months ago.

Mary was different, he told himself, she had to be. He smiled as he thought about her—her shiny dark locks, those warm brown eyes, that olive skin . . . she was a vision. He had been so nervous about asking her out, even though she was so kind and compassionate. There was a warmth that pooled in her eyes every time she looked at him, something completely different than Sandy's gaze.

"Soda?"

The teen turned to face the hall where Ponyboy was standing, arms hanging limp at his sides as he watched him with a curious expression. He grinned a little, beckoning his brother in as he went back to styling his hair.

"You think it's too much?" he asked, glancing at him.

Ponyboy raised a brow. "You're asking me?"

"Well sure, kiddo," came the response. "I wanna look good for her . . . for Mary."

Ponyboy stared at his brother, surprised to hear him talking like this about another girl, a Soc girl, no less. Ever since Sandy, Soda hardly dated, barely looked at other girls, and when it came to going out and going on "trips" with Dallas to pick up dames, Soda always looked like he dreaded it. More times than none, Dally complained that Soda's drab personality would drive all the girls away, so hearing him talk about Mary DeVaney was shocking.

"You must really like her, huh?" he mumbled, and then added, "You look fine."

At that precise moment, Darry stuck his head in, a smile on his lips. "Think you're going a little over the top there, kid brother?" He shook his head, stepping into the bathroom to adjust Soda's collar. "Gee, you're really putting some effort into this."

Soda sighed, his shoulders slumping. "She's different, you guys, real different. I want to look good for her, not have her think I'm just some grease monkey."

Darry and Ponyboy both eyed their brother through the mirror, similar expressions on their faces. Soda never seemed to care about things like this, not with any of the girls he'd dated, and he had dated quite a bit of them, none ever as serious as Sandy, but still. From how he talked about Mary, always getting a dreamy look in his eyes, Darry could only come up with one conclusion, and he tried to brush it off. On the other hand, Ponyboy was happy because Soda was happy, and that was all that mattered.

"You know something, Pepsi-Cola," Darry started, smoothing his shirt sleeves down, "when Dad asked Mom out for the first time, they were in a one-hand market downtown, and Dad . . . he liked Mom a lot, used to wait for her to get off the bus after school where she and her friends would go into the market to get Coca-Colas." A smile crossed his mouth. "Well, this one particular day, he offered to buy her a bottle, and she said yes, but only if he asked her on a date first, like a proper gentleman. But she knew he'd been chasing her."

Soda was listening with intrigue, eyes wide. "And he did, right?"

Darry nodded. "Oh, yeah. He did alright, right after he backed into a display case and knocked down several boxes of sodapop." He chuckled lightly. "He sat on the floor in a pool of soda and asked Mom out as he handed her one of the bottles. She said yes in a fit of laughter." All three of them were laughing at the story, and Darry merely smiled. "Dad told me that a long time ago, but the point is, and this is what he told me, it don't matter who you are or where you come from—if somebody likes you enough, they like you, plain and simple."

"Yeah," Soda chirped with a small smile. "Dad scored a date with Mom just by knocking over multiple cases of soda."

"And you'll be just fine on your date tonight, Soda," Darry winked.

* * *

Ella walked out into the cool breeze, glad that her shift was finally over. She thought about her class members at homecoming, happy for Evie that Steve was taking her, and chuckling quietly to herself about Two-Bit Mathews going with Gina Porter. And then she thought about Craig and Jane going together, probably dressed up real sharp, hand in hand as they entered the gym with bright smiles gracing their faces.

For once, Ella really didn't feel anything for Craig, didn't feel any hatred or dislike aimed at Jane, either. Instead, she felt somewhat peaceful, a light calm and serene feeling clouding her senses as she continued her walk home. Who cared that Craig was taking Jane to the beach after graduation? Who cared that he had lied to her about loving her? Who cared about those ugly rumors he had started about her?

As she walked, a car pulled up beside her, and she turned on her heel with an anxious sensation making its way up her spine, only relaxing when she saw the familiar T-Bird with Dallas Winston at the wheel. She gave him an odd look, wondering what he could possibly be doing there, but walked back to where the car was, raising an inquisitive brow as he looked at her through the passenger side window.

"Get in," he said, turning back to face the road.

The girl felt a little unsure of herself, but climbed into the car anyway, for once not bothering to care about her feelings or anything else. She glanced at Dallas as he drove down the road, licking her lips nervously as they continued on. Her eyes shifted toward the clock—it was only a little after ten, but it didn't matter, did it?

"Where are we going?" she asked as he drove past her neighborhood. "Dallas?"

The blond ground his teeth, coming to a stop a red light. "Why'd you do it?"

Ella sighed; she knew this day was going to come. Her gaze landed on the red light ahead, which was reflecting through the windshield, illuminating both of their faces. There was nobody else on the road, nobody else around, and Dallas had stopped, _actually came to a stop_ , at a red light.

"I would have felt bad," she admitted after a few seconds of silence. "I guess I should've had more faith in you, and I didn't, so I switched our exams around." She shrugged. "I told you that I was sorry, and I meant it, I am sorry, Dallas." A sigh fell past her lips. "I don't understand why you're not mad, or why you didn't lash out at me on Monday. Hell, I deserve it."

The blond merely stared at her, and then scoffed. "Ain't nothin' to be mad at, stupid. Either way, I still would have passed the school year and got the fucking diploma. It don't matter about some lousy ass exam counting toward my grade." He ran a hand over his chin. "'Sides, I would've just had you do the extra credit for me anyways, so's I guess we're even."

Ella's jaw practically dropped, unsure if she was really hearing this. She didn't know what to say to him, didn't know how to react. He wasn't mad at her because he was sure he would have passed either way, and it didn't matter to him. The silence between them was overwhelming, so Ella said the first thing that came to mind, her cheeks turning a shade in the darkness.

"The light is green."

Dallas's eyes shifted forward, and he reached out a hand and turned the key in the ignition, cutting the engine with a smirk. "Oh well," he muttered, stretching out in the seat and placing his arms behind his head. "Ain't my problem."

Ella's eyes were wide. "What if somebody comes?"

"There's a horn."

"But what if—"

His eyes snapped open as he jerked his head in her direction. "Life is a green light, girl. You gotta learn to live a little."

After a few minutes or so, Ella relaxed in the seat, watching the light change repetitively. She thought about Dallas's words—he was right, she supposed. Life was a green light, and everybody went at their own pace, in their own way. The entire school had been nothing but—from her meeting Dallas that day in Mr. Davis's office and becoming his tutor, to going on her first date with Craig, to meeting Ponyboy Curtis, learning what Craig and George had been doing, learning how to stand up for herself and her friends, and learning what it meant to let go a little—it just kept going.

Her body loosened up as she adjusted herself in the seat to get more comfortable. "What's your green light, Dallas?"

His answer was straightforward and absolute. "The day I leave this fucking town." The side of his lips twitched. "But I don't see that happenin' anytime soon, so's I guess you could say that I'm red until all of this probation bullshit clears the fuck up."

Ella licked her lips. "I guess I'm red, too."

At that, his eyes cracked open a little. "Bullshit. You're green, sweets. That's the difference—yer goin' places, wherever the hell they are, but you're all green."

"I don't feel like that," she admitted, eyes flickering to the floor. And then her brows furrowed as she considered her earlier thoughts. "Prom is tonight."

The blond grunted in affirmation. "Yeah, Two-Bit wouldn't shut his trap about it." At her silence, his eyes drifted in her direction, a blank look on his face as he took in her own muddled expression. "Let me guess . . . you thought you'd be goin' with your ex, right?"

She shrugged. "I suppose I considered it at one point, though not recently. It's just that . . ." Her face scrunched. "Well, that's just it—I don't know how I really feel."

Dallas was quiet for a moment, unsure of what Ella was saying to him. He couldn't understand why she would even be remotely upset about being unable to attend prom all these months later, or why she would even think of Fish-Eyes then. It didn't make sense to him, but then again, nothing about Ella Mitchell ever did seem to make sense to him. In the darkness, save for the changing light, Dallas's gaze flashed to the girl beside him for only a split second, and then, he turned the key in the ignition before reaching forward to turn the radio on low.

As the music flowed around them, he leaned back in the seat again. "There's your prom, sweets."

And then he changed topic, going on about how he ran into Craig earlier, but Ella was too absorbed in his earlier comment that she barely heard anything that he was saying to her. There was something bittersweet in his words, and Ella wondered why he was talking like that—Dallas was obnoxious and rude and cold, so hearing those words from him made her feel wary.

But he had been right—that had been their difference. Ella thought about her college applications and Dallas's record, and the bubbling pit of emotions in her stomach stirred up again, and she wished that she was red, too, but she knew that she had Dallas were too different from each other. They both had different needs and desires in life—both wanted different things.

In the end, Ella agreed with him—she was going places, places down different roads and new locations that she didn't even know about yet, and there was that yearn she felt for it, too. A bittersweet smile brushed her lips as she looked up again, the light turning green.

 _But, honey, I'll be seein' you 'ever I go_

 _But, honey, I'll be seein' you down every road_

 _I'm waiting for it, that green light, I want it_

* * *

 **Well, it certainly took Dallas and Ella long enough to become friends, didn't it? Hopefully, they won't mess that up with only two chapters left. ;)  
**

 **As always, thank you for all of the feedback on this story! I appreciate it and you guys so much! :3**


	49. Bottled Lightning

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Christina Grimmie owns "Feelin' Good."**

* * *

 _Before last night_

 _I was down on my luck_

 _There was nothing going my way_

 _Before last night_

 _Wasn't feelin' the love_

 _No reason for a smile on my face_

 **June 1, 1966  
**

While the other students aimlessly chatted around him in the art room, Dallas sat quietly in the back, a stoic expression on his face. His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs drawn up on the stool across from himself, his ankles crossed. He eyed the clock every few minutes—on Tuesday morning, he had done the same thing, but he was anxiously counting the minutes down until he could bail. There were only two days left until graduation, and Dallas couldn't wait to receive his diploma and give Davis the finger on his way out.

He had found out just the other day from Davis that he had passed his final exam with a C, and the smirk that drew across his lips was enough to make the annoyed principal shudder. Well, at least it wasn't Philips—he couldn't stand that awful bitch, preferring the scrutinizing gaze of Davis instead, which was saying something, since Davis was more of an authoritative figure. The principal didn't bother to conceal his dislike of the blond-headed delinquent, unlike Philips, who played like she was high and mighty.

"Dallas?"

He jerked his head to the side to see Mrs. Girdlé walking toward him, her brows pressed together, a small frown brushing her lips. The teen rolled his eyes, knowing _that_ particular look, as he had seen it one too many times over the course of the school year—Mrs. Girdlé was concerned, and he knew what it was about. He had yet to turn in his final project, and the woman had been questioning him about it since last Friday. But he had plans, plans which consisted of giving her the project on the last day of school, which was just two days away.

Mrs. Girdlé sighed as she rested her hands on the table. "You know what I'm going to ask you."

"Don't have it yet," came the monotone response. And then his lips curved up on one side as he turned to fully face her. "But don't worry yourself, Mrs. Gir _dle_."

Her eyes only bore into his. "Dallas, there are only two days left of school, and if you don't turn your project in soon, I'm going to have to give you a zero, which will lower your grade significantly." She adjusted her glasses. "I'm sure you don't want that, and neither do I."

But he already knew that she would pass him. "Told ya not to worry about it."

"Dallas—"

Before she could finish, though, the bell rang. The blond teen had already sprung out of his seat, not bothering to spare a glance back at the art teacher as he bolted out of the classroom, entirely too glad for the shortened classes due to the half day.

* * *

Ella listened as Evie continued gushing about how the prom had gone. She hadn't seen or heard from the girl since the week before, and from the way the younger teen was going on and on about how much fun she'd had, and how great the experience of prom was, Ella figured that a lot of other people hadn't seen her, either—or she had just wanted to dump the majority of her night onto Ella.

"Oh, Ella, you should have just seen it!" she cooed, popping a stick of gum into her mouth. "It was surely something. I wish you were there."

The older girl smiled. "You're making it sound like it was something out of a movie." She shook her head good-naturedly. "Was it really all that?"

Evie expressed shock. "Um, hell yeah. Actually, I even got Steve to have some fun, and surprisingly, Two-Bit Mathews didn't have to spike his drink or nothin', which was a bonus." She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder as the two continued on. "Steve really hates dances and all of that kind of stuff, so believe me, I was mighty shocked when _he_ asked _me_ to dance. I didn't have to drag his greasy ass out there, or bribe him."

"Bribe him?" Ella questioned.

"Well, yeah," she answered, her words dragging a little. "You know . . ."

Against her will, Ella's cheeks turned a shade. "Oh."

Evie winked. "Well, c'mon, El, I know you've hardly dated, but you can't be that dense. 'Sides, with who you've had your eye on, you can't tell me you're . . . well exactly innocent, either."

To a lot of people, Evie's words might have been insulting and hurtful, but Ella learned a while back that Evie had a blatant way of expressing herself—she was a little outspoken and straightforward, blunt and not one to hold back—but right then, the truth had stung a little. Ella knew that Evie meant well, she did, but sometimes, she let things get to her a bit too easily.

She came to an abrupt stop by the bathrooms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dallas Winston," she pointed out, and then sighed, dramatically rolling her eyes. "Ella, there are two days left of school. I mean, we both know that you've been—"

"Stop," the older girl said, cutting her off. "Let's not talk about that."

Evie gave her friend a once over, but nodded understandingly. She admired Ella because she wasn't the type of girl to fall over anyone, especially boys, but Evie felt somewhat bad for her. Watching Cherie Peters hanging around the guy she'd been interested in for the last few months had surely been terrible, but Evie couldn't fault Ella for not making a move. Guys like Dallas Winston weren't worth it, and Evie wouldn't admit it to Ella, but the thought of her liking Dallas actually unnerved her.

* * *

Two-Bit had a grin the size of Texas plastered across his mouth. His gray eyes were bright and cheerful, an expression that made Mr. Davis scowl. Of course, the teen already knew why he was meeting with Mr. Davis—the man had already explained that he had passed his final, and now he was about to go over how things would work out for him come senior year.

He still couldn't believe it—he would officially be a senior, and it was all thanks to Ponyboy. Had it not been for that kid, Two-Bit would probably be on his way out of the high school for good. He knew that Mr. Davis—and the board—were sick and tired of dealing with him, and there would have been no way that he would be able to bargain with them about returning or trying again. But there was no need to worry about that anymore—he had passed the eleventh grade.

"Keith," Mr. Davis addressed, and the rusty-haired boy perked up. "I must say that I'm quite pleased with your grades, impressed actually." His eyes roamed down the teen's file again. "The majority of your grades are ranging around a B and C average, which is quite a turn around for you."

Two-Bit's smile stretched all the more. "Well, Sir, what can I say? I had one of the best tutors there is to get me there."

The man raised a bushy eyebrow. "Tutor?"

"Well, sure," he answered proudly. "Ponyboy Curtis. Reckon you've heard of him, yeah? He's been a great tutor this year. Shoot, if it wasn't for that kid, I'd never have made it this far." And then he crossed his arms, expression turning goofy. "I know what you're thinking, Sir, and you're absolutely right! That boy sure does deserve an award."

Mr. Davis rolled his eyes, glad that there would be almost three months separating the time between when he would have to see Keith Mathews again. Good Lord, but if there was one student that was almost as bad as Dallas Winston, it was Keith Mathews, and for an entirely different reason. Still, he was shocked to hear that Ponyboy Curtis had been tutoring the older teen. He was suddenly reminded of Dallas Winston's words back in October, a glint of surprise in his gray orbs. That no-good delinquent had suggested Ponyboy Curtis as a tutor, too.

He decided to bypass the topic, though. "Alright, Keith, you know what classes you'll need to take next year, correct? We've previously discussed that you'll have a full day to fit everything in." And then his features became fixed, a stern look in his eyes. "No screw-ups, Keith. Tardiness, absences, low grades, insubordination, _anything_ , will count toward your grade." He shook his head. "This school and district are doing you a favor by allowing you one more year to attend high school, and if I were you, Keith, I wouldn't mess this up."

"Of course, Sir," Two-Bit replied, trying to contain the smile on his face from expanding more. What Davis didn't know, though, was that he already had things figured out for himself, and what Ponyboy didn't know, either, was that he wasn't out of his tutoring job just yet—he still had another year to go.

Mr. Davis shook his head. "I'll see you next year, then, Mr. Mathews."

Two-Bit merely laughed on his way out of the principal's office. "Thanks for the warning, Sir."

* * *

Ponyboy was excited, perhaps a little too excited, but today was the day— _the day_. He and Ella were going to pick up his book from Mr. Franklin's office, and he couldn't begin to conceal every emotion that he was feeling right then. Darry and Soda had picked up on his overwhelmingly bright spirit that morning, so he'd had to play it off by using the excuse that there were only two days left of school. Of course, Soda merely cocked an eyebrow at him, knowing that something else was up.

When the final bell rang, the red-headed teen rapidly made his way to the parking lot to meet up with Ella, who had promised to drive him up to his publisher's office. He really couldn't have been more grateful for the girl at that particular moment, and he was surprised to learn that she was just as excited for him as he was for himself.

What he didn't expect, though, was to see Dally Winston, who was leaning back against Buck Merril's T-Bird, which was parked right next to Mrs. Mitchell's Impala. Ponyboy almost cringed, hoping to the good Lord above that Dally wasn't there to hassle them again. He really didn't want to deal with it, but what he really meant was that he didn't want anything to hold him up, even if it was a member of the gang—he was just too excited.

"Hey, kid," Dallas called, puffing away on a cigarette. Ponyboy briefly wondered if Dallas would end up with cancer from the way he smoked so much. "Where ya headed?"

The younger teen nodded his greeting. "Me and Ella are gonna hangout for a while."

"Thought she worked Wednesday afternoons," the blond remarked, brows pressing together.

"In the evening, Dal," Ponyboy said, lighting up a cigarette of his own. He was more than relieved when he saw Ella making her way out of the school, headed in their direction. "Besides, it ain't like we're gonna hangout all day."

Dallas scowled, lightly whacking the kid on the back of the head for being mouthy, not that he really cared at that particular moment. It was interesting, though, seeing Ponyboy and Ella hanging around so much, and he had to wonder if it was all about the "incredible thing" that Ella had mentioned that the kid had done. It made him curious—curious to a fault, perhaps—but he really didn't dig being out of the loop—and what he wanted, he got.

"Where are y'all headed?" he asked once Ella was in earshot.

Ella flushed at the sight of Dallas, but kept her cool. She tried to focus on the fact that he desperately needed a haircut, that his wispy blond hair was falling into his eyes and curling up his neck and around his lynx-like ears. She hated herself for feeling how she did, and she knew that she had to ignore her feelings because what she wanted would never happen. Besides, she hadn't exactly seen Dallas since the other week, hadn't talked to him or anything.

Ponyboy was quick to think up a lie. "We're going to Gilcrease."

The blond scoffed. "The museum downtown?"

"Yeah," Ella replied, nodding along. "You know, for something real _incredible_." She gave him a hard look, making sure to purposely emphasize the last word to get the message across. As Ponyboy climbed into the car, she turned back to Dallas, pointing a finger at him. "Don't follow me, either, _hood_."

He grinned at her, seeing the smirk on the corner of her mouth. "Wouldn't dream of it, _sweets_."

* * *

Soda sighed deeply, cleaning his greasy hands on a spare rag. His eyes drifted up toward the clock over the door to the garage, glad that it was his lunch break—he was just about starved. Glory, but the day sure had been passing by quickly, not that he could complain. Tossing the rag over his shoulder, the teen made his way back inside, reaching for a Pepsi. He practically groaned in relief as the cool liquid ran down his dry throat, the carbonation causing his tongue to tingle.

"You look like you're enjoying that," a voice said, and Soda turned to his side, brows raising as a smile took over his lips—he knew that voice.

"Mary," he replied, taking in her beautiful face. Golly, but she was just about the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Her own smile was large and genuine. "Hey, Soda."

The golden-haired boy made his way over to her, leaning down to peck her cheek, breathing in her light and airy perfume that made his head spin. He wondered why he hadn't felt this way with Sandy, why she hadn't made him such a sap like this. Of course he had loved Sandy, loved her so fucking much that it hurt, but with Mary, there was something else, something more, and he wasn't sure that he really understood it himself.

"I brought you something," she said, breaking into his thoughts. "I wasn't sure what you liked more, so I made both." There was a nervous look on her face, her brown eyes wide. "I—"

But Soda was already pulling the ham and turkey sandwiches out of the brown paper bag. "Oh, darlin'," he said, chuckling a little. "You didn't have to do this."

Her cheeks were flushed. "Well, I wanted to surprise you."

Any other girl, Soda would have advanced on already—would have leaned down to plant one on her good and long. But he found himself, for the first time with a girl, nervous, and his hands were starting to clam up a little as he considered kissing _this_ girl. He remembered their date last Friday night, how it had gone so well, how Mary seemed to like him just as much as he liked her, how he hadn't thought about Sandy once. But there was still something about this girl that made him feel skeptical, as if she would realize that he wasn't good enough for her, that she would . . . that she would—

"Soda?"

He looked up, shaking his head. "Which do you like better? Ham or turkey?"

She chuckled, and the sound immediately caused him to relax. "Turkey."

"Well alright then," he replied, handing her the wrapped sandwich and a Pepsi. "How 'bout you an' me go outside and have ourselves a little picnic, huh?" His eyes were bright. "I gotta half hour break, so we've got plenty of time."

"I'd like that."

Soda couldn't control the faint blush that coated his own cheeks. No, Mary wouldn't do what Sandy had, she couldn't, because she was different. Still, the ache in his heart wouldn't go away, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't let go of that gnawing fear. He wondered what the guys would think of her—Mary—when they met her. She wasn't their kind, and he knew that it might cause some minor controversy, especially with Steve and Dally. Hell, he already knew that Steve would be wary of her, as he was already, and that wariness would come out harshly and bitterly; he didn't want Mary to be scared off.

He figured he would give it some time before he invited her to the house, give the both of them more time to get used to each other. Hell, she wasn't even officially his girl yet, and he wanted so, so bad to make her his, but he didn't want to rush things with her and make the grave mistake he had with Sandy almost a year ago.

* * *

Cherie was waiting for Dallas at the stables, a hard glare in her eyes as she watched him. She had been meaning to talk with him, but whenever she tried to, he had somehow found ways to avoid her, and she was growing more and more irritated. Cherie was a defiant girl—she didn't take anyone's crap, so she had to wonder why she constantly let Dallas Winston get under her skin. She knew he fucked around on her, knew that he used her, but she didn't care—she liked him, and that was that.

When she spotted him making his way toward the stable to gear up, she crossed her arms and headed in his direction, watching as his own face twisted up in complete annoyance when he spotted her. Cherie didn't care, though, her lips pursing together, nose stuck up in the air.

"Dally," she called, voice sweet like sugar. "You've been hidin' from me."

The blond scowled. "I ain't been hiding."

"Oh, no?" she bit out, placing her hands on her hips, looking down at him as he reached for a horse brush. "Because that ain't what it's been lookin' like to me, _sugar_."

Dallas, though, didn't give a shit about Cherie or her feelings. The only thing on his mind right then was getting his ass out on the track to practice for the rodeo in two weeks. Cherie was becoming more and more of a thorn in his side, one he was ready to pick and spray with herbicide. Glory, but just the sound of her voice was irritating.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah? And what's it lookin' like to ya?"

Cherie stomped her foot beside him, an aggravated groan thundering from her mouth. "It looks like you don't want me no more." And then she gave him a rough shove. "Well? You gonna man up and tell me that you're sick and tired of me, Dally? Huh?" Her fingers were curling around his shirt as she tugged. "I've seen you, ya know, with those other girls, I've seen how you always try to make me jealous of them!"

Dallas had enough of this whiny broad, and he simply pried her fingers away from himself, reaching down to grab the bucket full of grooming supplies. He took a good look at Cherie Peters, wondering why in the fuck she was so attached to him. Lord, even Sylvia would have hit the high road by then, surely, but Cherie was clingy and annoying, and he was fed up with her and her antics.

He smirked at her. "I think that sounds about right, broad."

"Dallas!" she screeched, anger and disbelief laced in her voice. "Dallas!"

"Take a hike," he called out, not bothering to look back as she continued to yell out for him.

* * *

Ponyboy's eyes were practically glued to his book, unable to look away from it, almost afraid that it would magically disappear into thin air if he did. The teen still couldn't wrap his head around it—he had written and published a book, an actual book. The copy in his hands might have only been a proof, but it was still _his_ book. Mr. Franklin had been so overwhelming generous and considerate, and Pony couldn't have been more grateful that the man had decided to work with him all those months back.

Beside him, Ella was smiling. "I'm really happy for you, Ponyboy."

"Thanks," he replied, eyes bright. He thumbed through the pages leisurely. "I just can't believe it, you know? It feels like forever since I started writing it, but in reality, it hasn't been that long at all, but it's just . . . unbelievable."

The older teen nodded along, eyeing the book thoughtfully. "You know, you never did tell me what it was about." At the boy's stunned expression, she continued on. "I know you said it had to do with the events back in September, but—"

Before she could finish, he handed her the book. "You can read it."

"I thought you wanted to show your brothers and everyone else," she said, licking her lips with a small frown. "They should be the ones to read it first, not me."

Ponyboy shook his head, though. "I'd like you to read it, Ella. I really think you ought to."

The younger teen could tell that she was skeptical, but Ponyboy had his own reasons for letting Ella read his book before anyone else. He still wasn't sure what his brothers and friends would say about the fact that he had ultimately changed Dallas Winston's fate in the end of the book, and gaining the opinion of an actual outsider—Ella Mitchell—he figured she would be more honest with him. Some part of him actually felt bad, but he had been angry with Dallas, something he was certain he would never get over.

Dallas had yet to explain a lot of things, but Ponyboy knew he couldn't ask the hood, couldn't bring up the topic concerning Johnny Cade, unless he wanted to get his head kicked in. Discussing those events was still hard to do, and Ponyboy knew that Dallas wouldn't want to hear anything about them, so he decided to go with his gut and leave his writing the way it was.

Ella simply nodded. "Alright, Ponyboy." And then she smiled. "Thanks a lot!"

As the two drove back to town, Ponyboy couldn't help but notice that this was the best he had felt in quite some time, and he realized that he was doing exactly what his family and Johnny had wanted, a look of pure happiness spreading across his features.

He was making something of himself and staying gold.

 _I got that sunshine_

 _It's like the world is mine_

 _I can't deny I'm feeling good_

 _Can't stop from smiling_

 _I'm bottled lightning_

 _Deep inside I'm feeling good_

* * *

 **Thank you for all of the positive feedback! :3  
**

 **The final chapter is next! Stay tuned!**


	50. School's Out

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Alice Cooper owns "School's Out."**

* * *

 _No more pencils_

 _No more books_

 _No more teacher's dirty looks_

 **June 3, 1966**

Dallas Winston sneered at the sight of Will Rogers High School. Disbelief wasn't even a term that could compare to what he was feeling. Undoubted shock reflected in his cold blue orbs as he grounded a cigarette butt into the gravel beneath his heel.

He just simply couldn't believe it.

It was the last day of school.

Dallas Winston had officially completed his senior year. He still couldn't believe that he had agreed to such a stupid-ass proposition all those months ago to begin with, but it had kept him from serving five years in Tulsa State Prison, so he had suffered surviving one year of high school and would receive his diploma that afternoon. That had been the judge's magnificent bargain. It was either that or serve five years for armed robbery, and aiding two juvenile delinquents escape a murder investigation.

Dally still wondered why he hadn't just died that night nearly nine months ago. That was what he had wanted after all. But no. The cops had shot him after he robbed that store the night Johnny died. Dally didn't seem to remember much of it, though.

And now there were plenty of other things to cover up what he really didn't want to remember, like a school year of hell, a dopey tutor by the name of Ella Mitchell, a sleazy ex-girlfriend who whined like a little bitch, Two-Bit Mathews passing his junior year, Steve Randle becoming a high school graduate, Soda Curtis getting a job on the West side of town, Darry and Ponyboy getting along—finally—and a bunch of other things that he could probably write a fucking book about.

Everything about the last eight months seemed surreal, as if it had all been some sick and twisted dream that he was just now waking up from, but it wasn't, and the brick building in front of him only served as a reminder of that.

He had fancied the thought of leaving town a few times, but figured he wouldn't have gotten too far, and besides, who the hell wants to live the rest of their life incognito while running from the law?

Eight months.

Eight lousy months he had gotten through to earn his diploma while staying out of trouble . . . which had proven to be quite possible for Dallas Winston. Still, though, what a fucking joke.

And here he was, clad in his ripped up jacket, low-cut, stained jeans, and cowboy boots, standing in front of the high school, dreading the fact that he had to meet with Mr. Davis for the last fucking time, and wanting nothing more than to get the visit over with.

* * *

Ella stood at her locker before first period that morning, fiddling around with Ponyboy's book. She had spent the last day reading it, her eyes glued to the words inside, her heart seeming to pound away in her chest as she absorbed every piece of text the book had to offer. Not only had she learned a great deal about her younger friend, she had learned about his life, his family, his friends, and . . . Dallas. The girl couldn't even begin to wrap her head around the last one, but she had been so impressed with Pony's story, so engaged in it—it was something alright, something incredible.

"Hey, El," Ponyboy greeted, making his way over to her. He had a smile on his face, although there was a slightly nervous look in his green eyes. "Can you believe it?" he asked. "Today is the last day of school."

Ella's brows raised as she nodded. "I know. It feels like—"

"We're still in the middle of the year, right?"

"Exactly," she answered, and licked her lips. Her eyes fell on his face as she studied him for a minute, wondering how he had endured so much in such a short amount of time, wondering how he was still able to go on about his life like nothing had happened. And then she knew. Ponyboy would remain gold, like his friend Johnny told him to. "By the way," she continued, handing his book to him, "I just finished it."

The younger teen's features were anxious. "What did you—"

"Ponyboy," she said, gaze lowering, "I really have no words, but your story—" She breathed in as their eyes met. "You're right, it _needs_ to be told, and more than that, it _needs_ to be heard. What you wrote on those pages . . . it's amazing."

He flushed at her words, but his heart swelled with pride. "Thanks, Ella. I really appreciate hearing that from you." And then he shifted on his feet as he considered his next question. "Do you think it's wrong that I wrote Dally off like that?"

At the inquiry, Ella blinked, though she wasn't exactly startled. She had thought about that when she'd read it, but surprisingly—and she was aware—that had been what Dallas wanted originally. She remembered him trying to find that poem by Robert Frost several months ago, how anxious he seemed to find out what it was—and now she understood why it meant so much to him. Still, though, the fact that Ponyboy had written him off in his story didn't quite feel wrong to her, and some part of her felt that—in some way—the blond-headed hood had gotten what he wanted.

She answered after a minute. "No, Ponyboy, I don't."

He nodded, registering the expression in her eyes—she was thinking the same thing he had when he was writing the ending. There was something genuine about it, something that was both tragic and bittersweet, and though he couldn't quite put his finger on it, he knew that his story had served its purpose if somebody else had felt what he had.

And that was what he was sticking with.

* * *

Dallas figured that he would just have to find a way to get his project to Mrs. Girdlé before the day was over, since he was missing art class due to this bullshit—bullshit in the form of Mr. Davis yapping away about his grades, the fact that he had completed, and passed, the school year, and that he would be speaking to his parole officer—good ol' Henderson—and other garbage he had blocked out five minutes into the conversation.

"Winston," Mr. Davis barked, shaking his head at the teenager across from him. "Are you paying any attention at all to what I'm saying to you?"

The blond sat up in the chair, arms crossed and a lethargic expression on his face. "What did you say, Sir?" There was a cockiness in his tone, one that hadn't gone unnoticed by Davis. Still, Dallas didn't care to be there listening to this shit—he had other things to attend to. "Look, man, if it's about chatting with Henderson, go right ahead. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear about this."

The older man looked ready to scream his head off. Oh, glory, but he'd had enough of Dallas Winston for a lifetime. He was glad that the eighteen year old had only been subjected to one year of high school; were it up to him, he would have denied the delinquent's probation and tossed him behind bars for five years—where he thought he belonged. Well, Mr. Davis was quite content with one fact—after this meeting, he would _never_ have to deal with Dallas Winston again. Good riddance.

"I _will_ be speaking with Officer Henderson, Dallas," he stated, trying to keep his voice calm. "He will receive your file here, which will be given to—"

Dallas's gaze was aimed at the principal, but his overall focus drifted elsewhere. Good Lord, but how long could someone sit there and drone on and on about the same fucking thing? Jesus H. Christ, but Davis had repeated himself three times already. Dally kept a straight face, biting back the derogatory comments on the tip of his tongue, his knee bouncing a bit in anticipation—he wanted out.

Once Davis stopped talking, the teen spoke up. "Yeah, that's great an' all, Davis. Can I go now?"

Mr. Davis's brows were furrowed, a look of blatant irritation blanketing his features. He was certain that Winston hadn't been paying attention to him at all, not that he was truly surprised. With a hard sigh, he glared at the teenager, wondering why he even bothered—right, because of school regulations, that was it. But it didn't matter, he supposed; it wasn't like Winston was even listening to him.

"You may pick up your diploma at the end of the school day."

And just like that, Dallas practically bolted out of the office as the bell rang. Glory, but he just couldn't wait to get out of that fucking school—only a few more hours left until it was over, he thought, his veins pumping with adrenaline. As he made his way through the hall, Ponyboy caught up to him, an excited look on his face as the two fell in step.

"What's wrong with you?" the blond asked, wishing that he could light up a cigarette right there.

The younger teen merely shook his head. "Nothing." And then ever so easily did he switch the topic, bypassing Dallas's question with one of his own. "How did things go with Mr. Davis?"

* * *

Two-Bit was excited, to say the least. Not only did this day mark the last day of the school year, it was also his final day as a junior. The rusty-haired boy remembered having similar thoughts the year before, except that he would be retaking his junior year for a third time. Good Lord, but the look of sheer and utter disappointment in his mama's eyes was enough to make him get drunk for the night. But that had been a year ago—now he could tell her that he was officially on his way to senior year, and that he would be a high school graduate come this time the following year.

Beside him, Steve looked ready to hurl. It wasn't that he was a nervous wreck or anything, or so he had said, but he was graduating that afternoon—him and Dally both. The only difference was that Steve would be walking to receive his diploma while Dally would pick his up in the main office. Two-Bit didn't exactly think that was fair, nor did Ponyboy, but Steve only shook his head and asked the two of them if they were actually dumb enough to think that the school board would let the likes of Dallas Winston grace the graduation ceremony—no sirree bub.

Speaking of which, the lousy hood hadn't bothered to meet up with him or Steve that afternoon. Even with the shortened classes due to the half day, Dallas had said he had to take care of something. He hadn't bothered to elaborate, and neither Two-Bit or Steve, or even Ponyboy for that matter, had bothered to question him. The twenty minutes they had for study hall was awfully boring, even if they were occupying themselves while standing outside smoking cigarettes and lightly chatting. Two-Bit almost wished that Ponyboy was with them for extra company, but the kid was stuck in class.

Two-Bit shot his buddy a look. "You make great conversation, Steve."

"I'm thinkin', you twit," came the cool response, but the older teen merely grinned all the more, a look that told Steve he shouldn't have answered.

"Oh, lighten up, man," he replied, sounding rather amused. "It ain't like you're going to shake hands with the president. Cool your tools, huh."

Steve went on to mutter a few swears under his breath. "I don't dig this shit."

"What shit?"

"Graduation," he spit. "Why's it gotta be such a big deal anyway?" A sigh. "Look, don't get me wrong or nothin', I'm glad to get outta here, but why a ceremony?"

And then Two-Bit smirked, one brow raising ever so slightly. "What's the matter, Steve? Don't you just wanna shake ol' Davis's hand and rub it in that another greaser made it to the big times?" And then he laughed, shaking his head as he did.

Steve's lips quirked a little, but he didn't smile. "Yeah, you can wink at him when you graduate next year." The dark-haired teen clapped his hands together in front of himself, shifting on his feet. "The only thing I'm even excited for is working full time at the DX this Summer."

"Your boss put you on?"

"Yup." Steve sounded proud, and the expression in his eyes told Two-Bit that he was. "He promised me a few months ago that he'd put me on full time with Soda, and he spoke to me about it the other day after my shift." His eyes met Two-Bit's. "I start Monday as a full time employee."

"Good for you, man," the older teen responded, and clapped Steve's shoulder. "Well, at least Soda will have more company now, huh?" A chuckle. "But he seems to be doin' mighty fine working weekends on the other side of town."

Steve's brows pressed together as he considered Two-Bit's words. Yeah, Soda was doing fine working two days a week at Giberson's Auto, and that Mary gal sure had a hand in making him like it even more, and Steve had to wonder about that. It wasn't that he was really concerned for his friend—he was actually happy that he'd found a new girl—but sometimes, he just had to wonder . . .

* * *

Ella wouldn't be walking for graduation later that afternoon. Some part of her was actually okay with that, though, even if her mother wasn't. It was okay, she told herself, because even if nobody else had understood the reason for her punishment, she did, and that was all there was to it. As she made her way to the office to pick up her diploma, her heart started to flutter in her chest. She knew that this would happen, and she wasn't looking forward to it—not at all.

Part of her almost didn't want to see Dallas, but of course, when she arrived at the main office, he was already there, his shaggy blond hair sticking out terribly. With a sigh, Ella walked inside, her stomach seeming to roll around, her cheeks heating up. Having read Ponyboy's book, her opinion of Dallas had changed dramatically, but she couldn't bring herself to let go of her feelings, and more than anything, she wished that they would just go away.

"Miss Mitchell," the secretary called out, and Ella nodded. "Picking up your diploma, too?"

"Yes," the girl answered, offering the woman a tentative smile, trying to ignore the fact that Dallas was standing a few inches to her right.

The secretary's eyes flickered from Ella to Dallas. "They'll be just a few minutes."

Ella turned, shoulders slumping down as her back pressed against the desk, her focus on all of the other students who were vacating the school, immersed in their own lives and conversations, excited and happy expressions adorning their faces as they made their way outside. Ella felt almost happy for them, thinking back to when she had just started high school, how she never would have thought that she would be in this sort of predicament.

And then Dallas's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she was brought back into the present. "So, isn't this something?" At her look of confusion, he continued on leisurely. "You an' me, sweets, standing here in the office, the only two in the entire senior class who ain't allowed to walk . . ."

The brown-haired girl scowled. "You think this is funny?"

"Impressive," he answered, crossing his arms. His gaze flickered to her face for a second. "Don't look so bummed out, girl, it's the last day of school . . . for good."

Ella rolled her eyes. "Trying my best." Despite the response, she hadn't sounded indignant. "How can you be this happy, though?"

Dallas scoffed. "I can't wait to get the fuck outta here."

She pursed her lips, considering his words. Of course, she thought, he would be happy to get out of school, to never have to deal with anyone there ever again, including her. That part actually made her feel bad, and even though she knew that there was nothing she could do about the situation or her own feelings, she still felt bad. Glory, but she was such a dramatic sap, and it was humiliating. It made her feel almost sick—the fact that Dallas Winston could make her get like this.

"Miss Mitchell?"

Ella turned around, taking her diploma from the secretary. The woman gave her a small smile, before quickly handing Dallas his own. She had been more careful, though, making sure that their hands didn't touch, and Ella frowned. The blond merely took it from her, staring down at it with a rather bizarre expression, an unreadable look flashing in his blue orbs. Ella wondered if he felt proud or not, or if he even cared that he had accomplished something—did he care?

The two teens exited the office, and by the time they got outside, the place was practically vacant, the students eager to leave and begin their vacations, except for the seniors who would be returning that evening for the graduation ceremony.

"What a year, huh," Dallas mumbled, sounding both relieved and bland. "Never thought I'd fucking make it, but"—He lit up a cigarette, tossing his diploma on the hood of the T-Bird—"guess I did."

Ella nodded. "Surprise, surprise."

He looked her over, leaning back against the side of the car, head tilted slightly, one brow raised. He was honestly surprised that Ella Mitchell had stuck around for the entire year, shocked that she had come through numerous times for him. He didn't exactly consider her a friend, but she was something, something else, a little more than just a dopey, air-headed broad. He actually thought it was quite humorous how they'd both hated each other eight months ago, and now, looking at her right then, her flushed cheeks, bright eyes, tensed figure . . . she more than liked him—it was too obvious.

Ella climbed into her mother's car, a sigh escaping her lips as she turned the key in the ignition and rolled the windows down, a blank look on her face. Reaching over, she placed her own diploma inside her bag, wondering what her mother would say when she saw it later that evening. What she didn't expect was to see Dallas leaning in the window beside her, a smirk plastered on his face. She gasped, lips parting ever so slightly.

"Wha—"

But before she could finish, he cut her off, eyes on hers. "See you around . . . Ella." And with that, he reached in, brushed back a piece of her hair, and winked at her before backing away.

Ella's heart was pounding, but she simply nodded. "Yeah, see you around . . . Dallas."

As she pulled out of the school parking lot, Ella couldn't help but to think that she would be seeing him around that Summer, and as she watched his figure get smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror, a part of her hoped that she would.

* * *

Mrs. Girdlé entered her classroom later that afternoon, a tired look in her eyes, a lethargic expression on her face. She always felt like this on the last day of school—not sad, but not especially happy. There was something bittersweet about watching her students either graduate, or move on to another grade. It made her feel quite heavily, but she always felt proud, always. Sometimes, students from past years would come back just to visit her, and she was always surprised to learn about their achievements in life, to hear where their lives had taken them, but there was one particular student that she was going to miss.

With a sigh, the woman made her way to her desk to collect the rest of her belongings. However, upon closer inspection, she realized that somebody had placed a bag beside her grade book. Mrs. Girdlé's eyes squinted as she lifted her glasses to her face, opening the bag. It took all of a few seconds before a genuine smile touched her lips, her dark orbs becoming glassy with tears. She couldn't bring herself to honestly believe what she was seeing—the one thing she had been waiting for all week long.

She unfolded the piece of paper inside, eyes scanning the words that were written, the tears starting to stream down her face against her will. Oh, but Mrs. Girdlé had always been incredibly sentimental and so emotional. But as she stared at the denim jacket that was now spread apart on her desk so that the back was facing up, the art teacher realized that this was the best project she had ever received.

There, printed on the back, was his final project—a copy of Van Gogh's painting of _The Starry Night_ with four words written on it.

 _Nothing Gold Can Stay_

So this is what Dallas had been so secretive about, Mrs. Girdlé thought, staring down at it. Of course he wouldn't really want to be there when she'd gotten a hold of it, because that was the thing about him, she had come to realize—he was too tough on the outside, and he always would be. But she had been right, too, she noted with triumph—there was a lot more to Dallas Winston than what anyone cared to realize, and now she had that small, though significant, knowledge.

Oh, yes, she would definitely be keeping this project.

As she folded the jacket back up, she chuckled to herself, having already graded Dallas with an A for the entire school year—she knew he could do it, too. And with a smile, she remembered, remembered a tough looking seventeen-year-old boy with wispy blond hair, cold and hateful eyes that blazed an icy blue, a hard looking face, and a seemingly permanent scowl on his lips—how she had always wondered what it was that made him tick.

And now she knew.

She reread his note once more before placing it back inside of the bag with the jacket, a grin on her lips as she did.

 _Girdle . . . how's the significance of this? —D.W._

* * *

Ponyboy was nervous.

His heart thudded against his rib cage, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Darry stood in front of him, shock ever present on his tired face, a bewildered expression reflecting in his eyes. He hadn't said anything since his kid brother handed him a copy of his . . . book. Soda was staring over his shoulder, lips parted, eyes scanning the pages of the book as Darry thumbed through them, disbelief becoming more and more evident on both of their faces.

"So," Ponyboy said, unsure of what to think. He had been expecting surprise, sure, but the silence that was surrounding the three of them wasn't something he was prepared for. "Do y'all like it?"

And that's when Soda's eyes met his. "Like it? Ponyboy . . . we . . . I mean . . . do you realize what you have done, little brother?" A grin was stretching across his face. And then the younger teen found his body enveloped by Soda, who was squeezing the daylights out of him. "I'm so proud of you, kiddo!"

Darry was still speechless, his gaze intent on the book. He couldn't decide what he wanted to say first, or how he should go about things. His little brother was a published author, he had written a book, an actual book. Golly, but his mind felt like it was about to implode—this was just something he hadn't seen coming, that was for certain, and he wondered how Pony had gone about it, how he'd done it without any of them knowing . . . how . . .

"Ponyboy," he said, shaking off his thoughts. When his kid brother's attention was on him, he couldn't contain the expression of pure pride that took over his features; that was his and Soda's kid brother, who was going to be somebody, who was going places, who had done something neither of them had, and who he was so damn proud of. "I want to hear it . . . from you."

Ponyboy's eyes went wide. "Are you sure you want me to read it, Darry? I thought, maybe, you—"

Soda interrupted, though. "I think you oughtta read it, Pone. It's your story, after all." He was grinning, brown eyes dancing. "Go on, kiddo!"

And the youngest teen considered it. It would be a perfect time to let his brother's hear his story—the moment he had been waiting for, which had seemed like forever to get to. Steve was out with Evie for the night anyway, and Two-Bit was at Buck's with Dally, most likely getting drunk or stirring up some kind of trouble, so he doubted there would be any interruptions for the rest of the night.

He nodded after a minute, a sigh escaping his lips. "Alright."

As the three made themselves comfortable in the living room, Ponyboy flipped his book open, a small smile touching his lips as he inhaled slowly, the thought that he and his friends had actually made it through these past eight months suddenly sinking in—they had _made_ it.

And he began reading. "When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home . . ."

 _School's out forever_

 _School's out for summer_

 _School's out with fever_

 _School's out completely_

* * *

 **First, I just want to thank each and every one of you who has read and reviewed this story! Your support and encouragement means the world, and I appreciate all of you so much! Thank you for being a part of this journey with these characters and I! With that being said, the journey doesn't quite end here! There will be a sequel to this story called "Wild Night" which will be posted within the next few weeks! So keep an eye out! :3**

 **Until next time,**

 **—Cat**


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